


We Make Our Own Demons

by EchoShimmer



Series: Lazarus!Tim AU [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depressed Tim Drake, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Eventual Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lazarus Pit, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Tim is too sacrificial for his own good, but it might be a while, made up cult traditions b/c the league is weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoShimmer/pseuds/EchoShimmer
Summary: In the wake of Bruce's death and Damian's rise as Robin, Tim Drake is left alone and spiraling. With a new name and nothing left to lose, Tim is forced to turn to the only person who seems to be offering help- Ra's al Ghul, the Demon himself. Sure, Tim might have to make a few sacrifices, but isn't saving Batman worth it? But even a genius like Tim couldn't have predicted how far he would be willing to go when things start going wrong. Is there any way for the Bat Family to save their lost bird, or has has he fallen to far for them to reach?Red Robin Comics AU if Tim had been put in the Lazarus Pit after the Widower's attack.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Everyone, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake & Ra's al Ghul
Series: Lazarus!Tim AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774183
Comments: 304
Kudos: 1253





	1. Throw Me in the Landfill (Don't Think About the Consequences)

**Author's Note:**

> After months of lurking around this fandom, I finally am posting one of my fic ideas! This is a concept I've been playing around with for a while now and I'm excited to share it. I have a couple chapters written and a general idea of where I want to go past that, so hopefully I can update fairly regularly, but we shall see. 
> 
> Tags are hard and will be updated as I go along. If you have suggestions feel free to share! And of course any sort of comment is always appreciated.
> 
> All the chapter titles will be coming from various songs that have inspired me while working on this story.
> 
> And with that, on to the story. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title comes from Landfill by Daughter

The day had dawned dull and rainy in Gotham. Tim had always been comfortable with the semi-darkness that always seemed to shroud the city of his birth, but today the weather just seemed to be accentuating the mood that had been following the young man for days now. Outwardly Tim may have been keeping up the distant façade that had been lectured into him at a young age, but internally he was as turbulent as the sky. Gotham shed its tears in mourning the way that Tim longed to.

The Dark Knight was dead.

Tim still had trouble processing it. He’d seen the body, broken and battered when Superman brought it back to the cave to tell them, the so called “Bat Family” (minus Jason, who was still running around the city in a red helmet doing who knows what). There was a level of suspicion, as always. Their mentor had taught them all well. There had been an autopsy, a series of identity checks that all came back positive. By all regards, that was indeed Bruce Wayne lying lifeless in the middle of the Medbay.

But Tim was a detective. He had learned long ago to trust his intuition. And something about the whole situation seemed… off. Some wiggling sense of distrust had lodged itself in the back of the vigilante’s mind ever since Clark had appeared, face full of sorrow. He couldn’t find a cause, nothing to point at to explain the feeling of disbelief over the situation, but it was there, nonetheless.

It was Tim’s insistence that kept the team from publicly declaring Bruce Wayne dead. And there could be no public funeral for Batman, lest the city fall into chaos as soon as his loss registers with the criminals. With limited options available, the body had been buried alongside his parents in an unmarked grave, the small ceremony attended only by the family and a select few heroes from the Justice League.

That whole day had been a blur.

Tim was still struggling to process it.

The weeks following that day had been a slowly escalating chaos.

Though not telling the city about Batman’s death had stalled the outbreak in crime, people had eventually noticed that Batman hadn’t been spotted in weeks. Nightwing and Robin just didn’t have the same sway to them. Dick had, naturally, not left town since That Day, but he had refused to don the Batman mantle for months afterword’s. It had taken Jason popping up again and dressing as the Dark Knight to deal with the rising crime in his own more violent way for a few weeks, and Tim nearly dying in his own slightly misguided attempt to stop the second Robin’s rampage himself, for the oldest of Batman’s protégées to accept the Batman mantle for himself.

On the bright side, the whole event had opened a limited communication between the Bats and their wayward brother, allowing them to forge a limited peace by promising to leave Jason to his own territory as long as he didn’t keep killing people.

Tim saw the whole situation as an overall win.

What Robin hadn’t expected is that his attempt at initiative would lead to this situation. A situation where Tim was no longer Robin at all.

The conversation itself had been short, Tim knew, and yet it seemed to leave behind an impact far beyond what should be possible for so few words. Dick, while donning the Batman uniform, had directly stripped the Robin mantle from Tim and given it to Damian.

Damian. The ‘grandson of Ra’s al-Ghul who had almost _killed_ Tim _multiple times’_ Damian. Dick had chosen _him_ as Robin over Tim. There was a reasoning, Tim knew. He had tried to process the words that his brother had thrown out to try and placate him when Tim didn’t take the news as calmly as Dick’s overoptimistic mind had imagined.

Tim had been Robin for years now. Tim was almost an adult. Tim was Dick’s equal, capable enough to do things on his own. Wasn’t that why he had gone after Jason alone, against Dick’s direct orders? Wasn’t Tim aching to get a chance at freedom, to build an identity for himself?

And Damien… Damien needed training. Needed a direct outlet to reshape the violent tendencies he had been raised with. Dick needed to be able to keep a close eye on the demon brat, and doing so by giving him Robin had made the most sense. Didn’t Tim see? Wasn’t this the most logical option?

Tim could see through the pleasantries, though. Tim knew what the real motivating factor behind the decision was, even if Dick wasn’t completely aware of the reason himself.

Dick thought Tim was mentally unstable. Everyone did, really. The - _former_ \- Robin’s insistence that something wasn’t right about Bruce’s death had driven a wedge in the trust between the family. Dick didn’t trust him. Damian flat out thought Tim was crazy. Alfred treated Tim cautiously, like he thought he was going to shatter.

And Tim got it, to an extent. He had lost so many people in such a short time. His father, Stephanie, Bart and Conner. Now Bruce. It was enough to drive a person mad with grief. Maybe Tim _was_ affected, to a degree. His depression had certainly reared its head with a vengeance recently.

But did that have to mean that no one he had considered family would _listen_ to him? Why couldn’t anyone just sit him down, listen to all the threads of suspicion that Tim had been gathering the past few months, and then decide whether he was sane or not? That was all Tim wanted anymore.

Did they trust him so little that the possibility that he saw something no one else had was impossible? Wasn’t he supposed to be the detective Robin?

Well, former Robin now.

Then there was the picture in Wayne Manor, the first hint of something tangible. Rumors in Europe about strange, possibly related phenomenon. Attempts at conversations with Stephanie and Cassie, both of which ended the same way. No one believed Tim. He was on his own for this one.

But not as Robin, not anymore. That role had been taken, and Tim had no wish to fight with the Demon Brat over it. He had work to do, and time was of the essence. He was about to go where Robin never could. Which left him only one option… the only suit on hand that would fit his needs…

Red Robin.

With a rough plan of action and a new name, Tim had been ready to set off on his self-appointed quest, prepared to sneak out of the city before anyone could try and stop him. He didn’t need that final confirmation that they didn’t trust him, he wanted a clean break. The Bat Family and the Titans had already given him enough data to work off of.

But Dick had shown up. _Batman_ had shown up. They had fought desperately with weapons and words, trying to get the other to cave in. Dick had tried a last-ditch effort to hold him back, suggesting that Tim was unstable and dangerous, that he needed to go to Arkham. _Arkham,_ of all places. As if Tim was a mad criminal.

Well, Tim reflected, he wasn’t really a hero anymore either. He wasn’t Robin, the living representation of youth and hope that prowled the Gotham streets. He was prepared to cross lines, prepared to straddle that line between the light and the dark. Whatever proved him right. Whatever would bring Bruce back.

As he flew out of Gotham, chartering a Wayne Enterprises plane to get to Europe, Tim accepted that his life was changing.

He just had no clue then where those changes would lead him.

\----

Tim doesn’t know what he did to end up in this situation. His life ever since he left Gotham was just a mess of searching and fighting, using action to drown out the growing doubts that plagued his increasingly darkening thoughts.

He knew starting out that he would be crossing some lines that Robin never had. He hadn’t predicted that he would be approached by Ra’s al-Ghul and a group of his assassins with an offer of assistance. Or that he would be just about desperate enough to accept it.

Tim’s resources were running thin. His leads weren’t turning up any hard evidence. The general lurking suspicion that Bruce was lost somewhere in time was still there, but the clues he had managed to dig up on his own thus far were dismissible. This cave and the rumors tied to it was his last big lead.

The assassins following him around to _assist_ and _protect_ him didn’t really ease his nerves about the situation. Tim wasn’t sure yet what exactly Ra’s was after, but it surely wasn’t good. But he was running out of options.

Tim knew he was already toeing the line. He floated in that vague grey area between vigilante and criminal, pulling stunts that he never would have dared back in Gotham. Working with the League of Assassins would just be another push away from who he once was.

But it was worth it, if it brought Bruce back. The world needed Batman. Who was Tim Drake, the once-Robin, in comparison to Bruce Wayne? If he had to betray his morals here… if he had to sacrifice his _life_ … it would be worth it to bring Gotham’s greatest protector back.

What else was Tim, if not the Batman’s soldier? He had saved Bruce from himself before. This would be no different.

Tim’s life seemed to be flying by in a series of contradictions. The drive out to the Iraqi cave was simultaneously unbearably long and surprisingly short. The assassins chatted with each other, surprisingly normal considering their employer and profession. Tim chimed in occasionally, but found himself distracted.

And then they’d arrived, and Tim had gone in alone. And _there it was_ . The proof he had needed. The symbol that had followed him throughout his life, a guiding light in the darkness at so many levels. Bruce _was_ alive, lost in time. And now Tim had a solid starting point.

He stood there for nearly an hour, soaking up the feeling, forming plans of action on what to do next. Maybe this would be enough for him to return to Gotham and get the family’s help. Surely they would listen now that he had solid proof of his claims. He didn’t need Ra’s assistance after all.

He climbed out of the cave to where the team of assassins waited, grinning like he hadn’t in months when they asked if he’d found anything. For a moment, everything had been perfect.

And then it all fell apart.

A man. Another assassin? He’d called himself the Widower. Wielded duel blades.

Stabbed Z through the back.

Sliced through Owens and Pru.

Moved towards Tim.

One blade blocked by his staff, one biting into his stomach. _Painpainpain_ , vision flashing, legs refusing to hold his weight. Something about the Council of Spiders? Tim’s mind was scattering, absorbing details at rapid speed but at the same time nothing seemed to be able to process past his shock.

He was so _close_. This couldn’t happen now. He’d just found the proof he needed, he had to tell Dick and Alfred and everyone else. They had to know that Bruce was alive.

But Tim couldn’t tell them. Tim was bleeding out in the desert, alone besides the likewise injured assassins and their mysterious attacker. Half a world from anyone he could possibly call family.

A discarded soldier in the fight against crime. A cautionary tale of what happened to heroes who became too lost in grief.

_I thought I would die as Robin…_

Tim’s vision gave out as he coughed, copper coating his mouth and throat. His face pressed uncomfortably into the rough ground as he felt his body giving out.

The Com in his ear sounded, but he couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t collect himself enough to attempt a response.

Bathed in blood, in the middle of the Iraqi desert, Timothy Drake-Wayne slipped into the darkness.

And then there was nothing.


	2. It's Hard to Breathe (but That's Alright)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Tim's encounter with the Widower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, first off thank you to all of you for the comments and Kudos on that first chapter. I didn't expect to get anywhere near that much attention that quickly. You guys are awesome <3\. I hope that this chapter (and those following) continue to live up to your expectations!
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title comes from Cradles by Sub Urban

Time passed Tim by in flashes as he fought his way through the waves of darkness. It was a continual battle to fight to the surface of awareness against the weight of gravity trying to pull him under.

The first time he awoke was to bright sunlight that made his head pound through the blood loss as Tim fumbled to wrap the bleeding wound the best he could with shaking fingers. Squinting into the light, Tim hazily tried to rouse his companions from where they had fallen. Only Prudence had responded, and Tim had done his best to bandage her as well before pulling both of them upright with a groan. 

The two had managed to support each other enough to reach the jeep, the assassin slumping into the passenger seat as Tim shakily started up the car. It took him a few tries to light the ignition.

The drive back to town itself seemed to fade in and out, with Tim’s heavy eyes blinking only to realize that far too much distance had passed by in that brief moment of rest. It was a miracle that he managed to get them back to the hotel at all. Looking back, it was most likely only the barren landscape and lack of other vehicles that had saved him from crashing.

After managing to get the car parked (did he ever turn it off?) it had taken another unknown passage of time for him to find the energy to pull himself from the seat to stagger out onto the street and around the front to grab Prudence. She again responded to his touch, seeming to have recovered slightly on the drive over. It was more on her effort than Tim’s that the two managed to get up to the balcony of their hotel room, collapsing onto the beds there as Tim’s legs all but gave out.

The last memory here- of a vaguely familiar voice crying out in shock and fear as ninja drew in like shadows from all directions- seemed little more than a fever dream.

Everything after that was even more hazy and seeped in unreality as the waves of unconsciousness tried to push him down.

Tim was being moved, rough hands wrapping bandages quickly around his torso.

_ His mother looked at him from across the entryway, informing him that they would be leaving in the morning. _

Rushed footsteps, more voices, loud and commanding, echoing off an enclosed, stone hallway.

_ Dick in his Nightwing uniform, laughingly calling back to Tim as he raced across the Gotham skyline. _

Waves of pain in his torso, a scattered and frantic beeping, voices rising further into panic.

_ Bruce settling onto the couch beside him in the main living room of the Manor, arm wrapping easily around his shoulder as he leaned in to peer at the laptop screen. _

A shrill squealing, suddenly cutting off.

Darkness. Still, calm darkness, drifting calmly in the nothingness that was devoid of pain as everything faded away.

Then warmth. Light behind his eyelids. A smooth liquid (water?) and gentle bubbles sliding across his skin, calling him back to the surface.

For a split moment everything in Tim’s mind fell to a standstill as he floated weightlessly, a haze of warmth coating his mind, urging him to relax and give in.

And then- Tim’s calm shattered to pieces.

Memories of his life, his childhood, the events of the past year, flashed behind his eyelids with a vengeance, the combined memories of  _ painpainpain  _ manifesting as a physical bolt of agony through his skull. Tim sucked in a breath, choking on water, limbs thrashing as he instinctively fought to the surface, desperately searching for the edge of the pool.

_ An empty house. _

_ Too many lifeless bodies. _

_ Dick and Damian’s judgmental stares as they stripped away the last vestige of stability in his life. _

Tim’s hands finally hit stone as he clawed his way onto land, chest heaving in effort as he tried to reorient himself with reality while his mind fell deeper into shambles. Footsteps approached him, a shadow falling over his shuddering form, the sound achingly loud and unfamiliar.

The need to  _ hideprotectdefend _ flashed to the forefront, and his awareness flooded with green.

The haze of fighting that followed never fully processed in the young vigilante’s mind. One moment his mind was flooding with panic, and the next he stood on the opposite side of the room, dark-clad figures lying on the ground as the only connection between then and now. Something in Tim’s head seemed to settle further, the haze of green retreating to the edges of his mind as his conscience snapped into awareness.

Standing on the other side of the Lazarus Pit, Ra's al-Ghul clapped slowly, green eyes meeting his with a hint of predatory satisfaction, echoes of  _ dangerrunhide  _ pulling at Tim’s tightly locked muscles in response to the expression.

“Excellent, Timothy,” the Demon’s Head purred dangerously. “You seem to have handled the resurrection even better than I could have hoped. I always knew you had potential.”

“Ra’s… what-” Tim choked out, throat grating like sandpaper. The surge of strength he had felt upon awakening released him all at once, his knees buckling and colliding with the rough stone below.

Hands emerging from the shadows grabbed at his upper arms and kept him from collapsing completely. A needle bit into his neck, easing the remaining fight from his shaking muscles as darkness ate at the edges of his vision in place of the green. Ra’s smiled placatingly.

“Sleep now, young Detective. There will be time to talk once you are fully recovered.”

Tim gave a last surge of effort to keep his head above water, but the overwhelming call of unconsciousness had sunk deep into his bones, dragging him under. Blinking heavily, he was only aware of light footsteps and the quiet scrape of a heavy green cloak before he was forced to give in to the darkness.

\---

The next time Tim woke up was different, calmer than the previous times. There were no external or internal alarms calling him into action, just the slow rise from a deep, drug induced slumber. The realization that this was, in fact, not a naturally occurring siesta is what finally shocked Tim into awareness, instantly aware of the minute details of his surroundings that he could discern without giving away the fact that he was awake.

Tim was on top of a soft surface, probably a proper bed based on the size. The air was warm, but not uncomfortably so, likely temperature controlled. The lack of weight and pressure on his body meant that his uniform had been removed at some point, which was a whole level of  _ nope  _ to assess at another time. What he was wearing now felt lighter, fabric instead of armor, and the fit of the material was unfamiliar, though it seemed smooth and soft against his skin. His wrists and ankles seemed to be unbound.

Tim strained his ears further, picking up the edge of the electric hum of a lightbulb and  _ there _ , a faint exhale to his right. At least one person, then. Whoever it was didn’t seem to pose an active threat if he wasn’t tied up. But this couldn’t be the Batcave, not with how warm it was, and Tim doubted that anyone would bring him into the manor at the moment. They all thought he was insane. Not to mention that last he remembered Tim had been running around Europe.

The spike of anger that rose up at the memories surprised Tim. It was suddenly a struggle to maintain his charade of being asleep.

_ Dontthinkaboutitdontthinkaboutwhydontrememberthem- _

With no other options left to him, Tim reluctantly opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side. The too-long hair that fell into his face as he moved did nothing to obscure the over-extravagant room or the face of Ra’s al-Ghoul from Tim’s vision. The boy sat up quickly, body laced with tension.

“Ra’s,” Tim stated cautiously.

“Timothy,” Ra’s responded evenly, voice laced with something akin to amusement. “I’m glad to see you conscious and aware. I believe that we have much to discuss about the events of the last few days. How much do you remember?”

Something about the edge of…  _ concern _ … in the immortal’s voice rang warning bells in Tim’s mind as he scrambled to piece together the memory of how he had managed to land himself here in the first place.

“Iraq. There was a fossilized Batarang there. And an assassin… the Widower, I think. He attacked us. We lost. I got stabbed,” Tim recalled. His hand raised automatically to press against his side, surprised to find only smooth, unbandaged skin beneath the thin silk shirt. Memories of pain, fear, green. The last pieces click into place.

“You put me in the Pit,” Tim accused flatly.

“I did. It was the only way to save you. The damage you took from the blade, combined with the struggle of your return, was too much for even my doctors to heal. When you flatlined on the table, I directed them to submerge you.”

Tim paused for a moment, letting himself process behind his carefully held mask. Processed the fact that he had died, and that he had been brought back. This time, the spike of anger that rose up in his chest wasn’t as much of a surprise. The Pit’s influence, probably.

Tim had been in the Lazarus Pit.

His skin was crawling with revoltion at the concept. Hadn't he seen firsthand from Hood what the Pit did to a person? The mood swings, the loss of control, the brutal strength. The Pit had taken the former Robin and cranked all his worst impulses up to an eleven while cutting his control down to nearly nonexistent. 

He’d been slowly recovering over the last few months, but the water still lingered in his veins. The rest of the Bats held him at a distance.  _ Imagine how they’ll treat you if you- _

Sitting calmly on the bed so close to the Demon’s Head suddenly seemed grating, and Tim found himself fluidly flipping to his feet on the other side of the room to gain space as his mind suddenly spiraled between panic and anger. Ra’s, for his part, hardly even reacted to the sudden movement.

“ _ Why _ ,” Tim finally choked out. 

“To put it simply, you’ve impressed me, Timothy. You have succeeded in finding the first solid proof that your former mentor isn’t as dead as everyone assumed, as well as bringing back information on a new enemy of the League. You’ve proven yourself as a true protege of the Bat in both mental and physical prowess, even after being isolated from the rest of the group for choosing to follow your carefully trained instincts.”

Another spike of green-tinged anger, this time directed towards his former family and team. A small part of Tim realized that Ra’s was triggering these reactions intentionally, using the instability of the Lazarus flowing in Tim’s veins to isolate him further. The rest of Tim didn’t care that the reaction was extreme.

_ They betrayed me. They refused to listen to me. They pushed me out when I was desperate and alone and left me to fend for myself. I  _ died  _ and none of them would have even known. _

“What do you  _ want _ ,” Tim snapped. “You never do favors like this out of the good of your heart. What do you expect me to do in exchange for reviving me against my will.”

“Repayment is simple: work with me as you have been to stop the Council of Spiders before they become more of a problem. With the League’s resources behind your mind I doubt they will be a problem for long. I will even agree to return your wayward acquaintance to Gotham unharmed should you succeed.”

_ Tam _ , Tim suddenly recalled.  _ Tam was in the hotel room. She’s here now? _ One thing was for certain: Tim had no choice but to agree with her as a hostage to his good behavior.

“I will agree, under the stipulation that neither I nor those under my command are to kill any of the Council. There are other ways. And after they are dealt with I’m resuming my search for Bruce.”

“I expected nothing less,” Ra’s allowed. “Which brings me to my second point.”

Ra’s stood, rounding the bed to stand only a few feet from Tim, looking down at the vigilante and holding his gaze, jade eyes cutting.

“Timothy. While your search is commendable and has made much progress, it is still clear that you are severely lacking in resources. You have made do for the first part of your journey, but that will no longer be enough if you wish to truly bring the Detective back. Without assistance, you will fail. And based on your earlier reactions and  _ their  _ track record, I doubt that getting help from your fellow heroes is currently an option.”

Tim ripped his gaze away, turning his back to the immortal as he fought not to react. Only to freeze when doing so put him face to face with his reflection in the ornate mirror on the wall. 

The signs of exhaustion that had plagued him for months had all but vanished, his skin cleared. And if that alone wasn’t enough, the white strip in his too-long hair and green tinge to his formerly blue eyes was enough to make him nearly unrecognizable compared to only hours prior. 

Even as he stared, the green sharpened, no doubt a reaction to his rising stress. Ra’s had a point, even if Tim was comfortable going back to Gotham now, he would probably get three steps into the city before the Bats swooped down to throw him in Arkham.  _ If they were threatening it before all of this- _

Tim’s fingers dug into his palm of their own volition.

Over mirror-Tim’s shoulder, Ra’s had drawn in closer, still carefully keeping a few feet between them as he observed Tim’s reaction.

“As such, I have a proposal for you, a partnership. After the Council of Spiders is removed from the board, you may continue to use League resources to bring the Detective back in exchange for a vow of loyalty. The Batman will return to Gotham, and you will remain here as my protege and, eventually, my heir.”

Tim doesn’t think he’s ever turned around so fast in his  _ life _ .

“Your  _ heir _ ? What the  _ hell, _ Ra’s.”

“I have already been generous with the first offer I have given you today, as the defeat of the Council is in both of our best interests. However, if you wish to continue to use my resources in your search, I expect more commitment from you. Your intelligence and overall skill make you an ideal fit for the role, more than my Grandson ever was. The heroes have squandered and belittled your potential for too long.”

Ra’s moved closer again, little more than an arm's length separated the two men.

“Until now, you have gotten by with the assurance that as long as you followed their rules, they would accept you. But now you have faced death, now you have risen above them, and they will not accept you. You’ve seen firsthand how your predecessor has been treated ever since his return, even when he’s promised not to kill anymore. And you have already been disowned by the others. None of them have ever truly appreciated you, not like I do. I shall not force you into any more violent acts until you are ready, even should it take decades. Join me, and you can have everything you are searching for.”

Ra’s holds out his hand, green cloak sweeping aside, gold rings glinting in the light. It paused in the space between them, offering the world for the price of his soul.

“Accept the deal, Timothy. Join me.”

Tim’s mind spiraled in denial, green invading his every thought. He wanted with everything in his being to be able to tell Ra’s that he was wrong, that his family did love him. But the facts only seemed to disprove it. 

_ He’s right _ , his mind whispered to him.  _ If your own parents never loved you, how could they? _

As soon as Bruce was gone, hadn’t everything fallen apart? They had stripped him of his place in the crusade, pushed him from the manor without a thought, called him insane. Had any of them actually cared about him at all? Didn’t it all have to be an act, for them to be able to turn on him so quickly? 

Had it all been a lie?

_ Not all of it _ , another part of him rose up to argue.  _ Bruce loved you. Bruce never betrayed you like that. It only fell apart after Superman brought back his body. _

But Bruce wasn’t here. Bruce was lost in time, and only Tim knew. Only Tim could save him, just like he always did. But to do so, Tim needed more resources. 

And Ra’s was offering. Ra’s was giving Tim an opportunity to fulfill the role that Tim had selflessly done for years. Tim was the Batman’s protector, the one to bring him back from the edge when he was lost in the shadows of the cowl. Tim’s life had always been intertwined with his. Wouldn’t this just be one more sacrifice in the name of protecting the Dark Knight? Wasn’t Tim’s life nothing when compared to Gotham’s- to the world's- best defender?

_ You can save him _ , all of him cried.  _ You can save the only one who ever loved you. With one sacrifice, everything can be okay. What good would your freedom be if Bruce is gone? _

_ Bruce’s life is everything. _

Was there ever really a choice?

Tim took Ra's hand.

“I accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And things continue to go downhill for Timmy-boy. Next up, Tim takes on the Council of Spiders! I'm sure that nothing could go wrong there, now could it? We'll see


	3. In This Awful Place (I Shouldn't Show a Trace of Doubt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim vs. the Council of Spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all so much for the kudos and comments!!! I really didn't think I could get anywhere near this level of attention, and especially not this quickly. Reading the comments you guys have left never fails to make me smile, and I'm definitely planning on responding to all of them for as long as it is reasonable to do so. You guys are amazing <3
> 
> \---  
> Chapter title from Escapism from the Steven Universe soundtrack

Tam was thoroughly unsatisfied with Tim’s explanation of the situation. Or, more accurately, she was unsatisfied with the solution he had presented to solve her current hostage problem. When Tim lightly breezed over the deal he had made to explain that she would be sent back to Gotham soon, she had come back with a surprising amount of resistance that didn’t line up with the picture Tim had drawn of her from the Lucius had described her.

“You can’t just send me back,” the woman sputtered, aghast. “Do you think that I would seriously follow you all the way out here to the middle of nowhere to get kidnapped by ninjas just to turn around and go back without you after hardly a conversation?”

“I can’t go back Tam,” Tim insisted. “For multiple reasons, really. There are a lot of pieces at work here that I don’t have the time to explain,” Things have changed a lot since I left Gotham, and I haven’t finished what I set out to do.” 

Tim tugged at the white lock in his hair, deep in thought, before continuing. 

“Taking this deal to get you home and my goal accomplished is what’s best for everyone right now. It’s not safe for you to stay here.”

“And it’s safe for you?” she scoffed at him. Tim didn’t answer, watching her blankly until she backed off some, forced to actually consider the proposal.

“And _what_ exactly am I supposed to tell my father when I come back without you? What am I supposed to tell your _family_?”

Tim forcefully suppressed the flash of green that threatened his vision. Tam wasn’t skilled enough at deception to hide that she had caught the reaction, and the young man grimaced internally at yet another slip. The less she could report back, the better.

“You can tell your father that you talked to me, but I’m not ready to take over duties at WE at this time. I understand the concerns he has for the company under its current leadership, though. I’ll get you a hand written and signed letter with a statement officially naming Lucius as CEO in my place until the situation has changed one way or the other. With any luck, I should have a solution on my end soon.”

Tim paused, taking in the young woman’s wide eyed expression as she tried to rationalize everything that he had gotten her into over the past few days. A flash of guilt and self-loathing hit him, and he glanced away, mouth thin.

“As for… as for the Waynes…” Tim sucked in a breath, centering himself again. “If they do happen to come asking questions, just tell them that I’m fine, and that I don’t want anyone looking for me. They don’t need to know anything else.”

Something in his voice and expression dissuaded further questions on the matter, and that was that.

\---

The next few days are a whirlwind of research and activity for Tim, who trades his hours not spent eating or sleeping either buried deeply into the Leagues computer network or, when Ra’s decides he has been hidden away too long, training. Rarely does Ra’s himself run these sessions after the first, but he is often present and observing as various assassins in the League train him in weapons and new, more violent styles of hand to hand combat. 

Of course, Bruce had given all of his Robins a basic grasp in a variety of fighting styles, but something about this felt intrinsically different. For one, the assassins rotating him through their lessons were much less allowing than his mentor had been. None sought to injure him badly (not with Ra’s watching him so closely), and they were surprisingly patient teachers all things considered, but injuries weren’t uncommon. Tim was quickly gathering a collection of new scars to replace the ones the Pit had wiped away. 

Tim hadn’t missed the message behind his first major injury, a small but nonetheless scarring cut along his collarbone, given to him by Ra’s during the first session when he sought to gauge his abilities beyond the use of the bo staff. It had been a further statement of the Demon’s control over Tim’s life, an action that the boy had let slide without comment.

No. The most jarring realization came to Tim whenever he caught the immortals focused gaze from across the room after Tim succeeded in a well aimed throw of the knife, or landed a hit on his opponent with a carefully controlled blade. The look that told Tim that the older man was analyzing his every action, calculating how far Tim had fallen into his influence. Tim had told the older man that he refused to learn killing moves, but he wasn’t blind to the fact that much of what he learned could be far too easily adapted that way with the smallest adjustment to the position or force. 

Even more unsettling is how Ra’s would _praise_ Tim whenever he did exceptionally well, sometimes even going as far to press a hand lightly to his upper arm or shoulder to emphasize the praise. And though Tim always kept his face carefully blank in these moments, he couldn’t help the blossom of warmth deep in his chest at having earned the man’s approval. Isn’t that what he had spent most of his life striving for, the approval of his father figure or mentor? Was that what Ra’s was trying to assert himself as?

_Was it working?_

It scared Tim, when things slowed enough for him to process, that he was falling into the routine of this new life so quickly.

It was also startling how easily he was adapting to the use of a blade.

\---

The research part of Tim’s current status quo was much more familiar and therefore easier to dwell on.

Ra’s had given Tim full admin access to practically every server that the League was running worldwide, to the White Ghost’s disapproval and Expeditor's chagrin. (Their reactions didn’t faze Tim. Ra’s wouldn’t let them get away with anything, and besides that he was almost certain that the Expeditor was leaking the League’s movements to the Council, no matter that his family’s life was on the line).

The true size of Ra’s empire was almost incomprehensible, even to the boy who had grown up rich with Batman’s resources at his fingertips. The League of Assassins was far more than just a group of hitmen for hire. There was a whole business model here.

The league had plants in almost every major government, even those like the United States where the JLA was so active. They weren’t just assassinating people, but also influencing elections, running businesses, sometimes inciting issues and other times solving them. The only pattern Tim could see was the egotistical need of their immortal leader to be in control, to be the one pulling the strings from the shadows so that he could breed joy and sorrow as he saw fit. 

He was a man who thwarted death himself, then turned around to hand it out at a whim.

The idea that the Justice League had managed to make a dent in his plans at all was impressive, and even then Tim had a growing suspicion that Ra’s occasional attempts at world domination were actually nothing more than halfhearted feints to distract his adversaries from what he was really doing behind the scenes.

The League was also not paying taxes. Huh.

\---

Only one thing disrupted Tim’s growing routine- an unexpected phone call that came in a week before the plan was to be put into action. Tim pulled the burner phone from it’s hidden pocket of the Red Robin uniform when it’s buzzing distracted him from the computer screen. His eyes quickly locked onto the familiar number, from a Gotham area code.

_Dick Grayson._

Dick was trying to call him. Now, after months of no contact, he decided to finally use the number that Tim had left, the one tie that he had held onto when leaving Gotham. After waiting for so long, surely Dick couldn’t just be calling for no reason, just to talk like they did when they were both younger and Tim was still in the green tights. No, something had prompted this.

 _He’s only calling because he wants something- wants his little toy detective back. He wouldn’t have waited so long if he really wanted you back. He has a new little brother, a_ real _little brother to smother in attention now. You were always just the stand in brother after Jason died._

Tim’s vision floods green, and the world slides out of focus, time seemingly moving like molasses and then snapping back all at once. When Tim blinks, seemingly just moments later, he finds himself halfway across the room, desk chair flung to the side. The phone was silent, laying shattered at the base of the far wall. 

Breathing hard, Tim stalked back to the computer screens, righting the chair and sitting back down with a bit more force than was strictly necessary as his mind resettled, the surge of raw emotion once again retreating behind his carefully erected walls.

He left the remains phone untouched in the shadows, leaving it for one of the janitors who were responsible for keeping the Cradle clean to find later.

\---

It’s ironic, Tim thought, that some of the greatest hunters in the world struggled once they were the ones being hunted.

The League’s Ninja were accustomed to working from the shadows, slipping into the eye of society only long enough to do a job before disappearing from the radar once again. Very rarely did they face an adversary head on, and that usually consisted of heroes trying to knock Ra’s down a peg or two. Such a direct, murderous threat was practically unheard of for generations, and as such there was almost no one in the League equipped to handle it.

Luckily for them, Tim was a master of strategy.

Using the fact that the Council was obviously getting leaked intel on the League’s missions, Tim easily moved some resources around to set up a trap for them. It was a simple matter to slip a few faked hits from the League’s ever present requests list- a politician from London, a CEO in Athens, and an adulterous wife in Budapest- and organize them to happen simultaneously. The trick was to make the jobs look real, and give no indication that all three locations would have a large group of ninja in wait for the Council members who might choose to show themselves.

 _After all, there's definitely more than one of them, based off of the multiple causes of death and the varied locations across the world. It is the_ Council _after all. The name alone implies a group._

Tim attentively watched the assassin acting as the bait at the Budapest location, Prudence stiffly crouched to his right. It was the first time that Tim had seen her since he had awoken, and neither of the two had dared bring up their shared near death (or actual death, in Tim’s case) experience. 

Lying underneath the tension, however, was an understanding formed by the shared trauma of being the survivors from among the dead. It was a role that Tim seemed to be fated towards again and again. The remaining Drake. The remaining Young Justice member, the remaining loved one. 

_Pain, pain, pain._

_No. No time to think about it. Push it down, drown it out, focus on the mission at hand._

Tim also suspected that Pru felt indebted to him for getting her back to the city and therefore saving her life. The ease at which she followed his orders compared to the others surprised him until he realized what was likely going on in her head. Having her by his side was a familiar comfort, no matter the reason for her compliance.

The Budapest attack team, consisting of Tim, Pru, and ten assorted ninja, waited with bated breath as the hired actors moved about the room two buildings over. Located on a building just west of the actors’ location, the assassin currently acting as bait peered through his scope, ears carefully focused towards his earpiece that was currently connected to Tim’s. No one spoke, letting the tension build as they waited for the action to unfold.

They weren’t left waiting for long. Just a few minutes before the hit was officially scheduled to be taking place, a flash of movement on the observed rooftop caught Tim’s eye. Adrenaline flooded his system as Tim called the warning, and the bait-assassin acted quickly to spin around and defend his back from the attacking Council of Spiders member. The attack team lept into action, throwing themselves across the short distance to get between the two men there.

Landing carefully in a crouch in the center of the group, Tim gave himself a moment to analyze their opponent, just as he did the same. The unknown man had medium-brown hair, slightly curled and leaning towards the longer side. Most of his face and neck were wrapped in medical bandages, only his pale blue eyes and forehead visible. His chest was bare, with his arms similarly wrapped from elbow to fingers, from which four clawlike blades protruded like grotesque fingers. He wore brown canvas pants, held up by a matching belt and riddled with pockets. His feet were bare, shifting into a defensive position as he was systematically surrounded.

All this, Red Robin filed away in the flash of time it took the rest of the team to disperse on the rooftop, forming a tight circle around the target. He made a show of withdrawing his bo staff from the folds of his cape, flicking it open and falling into a crouch with an air of relaxed confidence.

“Surrender,” he offered. “Talk to me, and you’ll make it out of this alive, on my word.”

The bladed man didn’t respond, only sinking further into his stance and tensing. Metal scraping echoed over the rooftop as the ninja prepared in kind.

A moment of calm, tension rising before the energy broke with a snap.

The man spun around in a split second, right hand snapping up towards the face of the ninja that had been attempting to creep up close behind him. Pru raised her gun to fire at the momentarily exposed back, and Tim was forced to flick his staff upward to knock her shot high when he saw where she had been aiming.

“No kill shots!” he snapped when she shot him a glare. She rolled her eyes in response, but adjusted her aim. 

During those seconds, the targeted ninja had managed to pull himself back, turning the deadly attack into a relatively mild surface wound as he continued to stagger back- before collapsing to the ground with a cut off, gurgling scream. As the other ninja jumped into the fray, Tim managed to get a glimpse of the downed man’s face, the edge of the wounds blackening.

The blades were poisoned, some sort of fast acting neurotoxin. Even the smallest cuts would be deadly.

_More death on Tim’s hands._

The following minutes passed by in a blur of action and reaction as they traveled across the Budapest skyline, both sides exchanging blows. The ninja of the team steadily dropped in number. A couple were lucky, simply thrown from a low rooftop or taking a blow from the Council member’s foot that left them unconscious, but alive. Most weren’t as fortunate, unable to react to the attacker’s unusual fighting patterns and taking a slash from the blades for their efforts. Tim’s chest tightened as each of them fell, but he determinedly pressed on.

Red Robin and Prudence, for their part, used the advantages of their longer ranged attack weapons to stay out of range of the enemy. The two worked together seamlessly like a team that had been together for years, taking turns attacking and defending each other. The green haze was bubbling at the edge of his awareness, somehow simultaneously distracting and focusing him. After a fierce rally of blows, Tim drew back, gaining space with a slightly exaggerated flourish of his bo.

“You ready to talk now? I’m starting to get bored of this dance,” he prompted, pulling on that innate Robin skill of mid-battle banter to try and draw a reaction.

“I’m going to _kill you_ !” the man- _American accent_ \- snapped, lunging forward without thinking, driven past the point of logic.

With a quick twirl of Tim’s staff and a kick towards the enemy’s temple, the distracted Council member dropped. Tim and Pru dove forward to hold him, restraining his arms tightly behind his back and tying his feet together before he shook off the stun. The duo stepped back as the man twisted warily to kneel on his knees, glaring up at them but not trying to stand.

The raging inferno pressed at Tim’s chest, calling for blood. _Fightbleedkill, show your enemy no mercy, as he didn’t to your allies._ Tim did his best to ignore the Lazarus-influenced instincts like usual, blocking it away as much as he could, but they seemed to grow louder throughout the battle, pulsing almost at the forefront of his mind. If his eyes were visible underneath the cowl, he was certain that they would be more fluorescent green then blue. 

Pru shot him a vaguely questioning look when he tensed up at mental strain, but didn’t say a word.

“Talk to me,” Tim growled after he’d settled himself. “You’ve been beaten. You can either talk to me now, or I hand you over to the League for questioning. And trust me, they won’t be near as nice as I will.”

“Insolent child. As long as I’m breathing I have not lost. Untie me, and we’ll see who the real victor is.”

“Who are you? What is the Council of Spiders planning?” Tim pressed. The man huffed in annoyance.

“I am Recluse, and if I were you I would be much more concerned about how your other traps went right about now.”

“Red Robin come in… are you still alive?” Tim’s earpiece summoned with the crackling of the White Ghost’s voice. Tim spared a quick thought to the timing of the call as he stood back a half step, reaching to his ear to unmute the device.

“Yeah, Pru and I are alive and we captured a member of the Council. The rest of the team’s status is unknown.”

“The other two teams are completely annihilated. They hit all of our locations at once, and as of now you two are the only survivors from the attack squads.” 

Tim’s heart sank even further, stomach turning. So much death at the hands of so few… Pru, having been listening to both ends of the conversation through her own earpiece, had noticeably grayed. Recluse seemed to have heard at least some of the conversation as well, barking a cruel laugh at his captors reactions to the news.

“Oh, no,” he practically purred. “Your three traps may have been sprung, but there were four games on the table tonight. The finale should be about to begin.”

 _The finale… fourth game…_ Tim’s mind whirled through the possibilities with a growing sense of horror at the implication. The Council had planned a fourth attack, one that would strike a huge blow. The only other place that made sense for that was-

“We need to get back to the Cradle, now! Where’s the keys to the helicopter?”

Pru tossed them to him in a high arc, frowning at the man who was still cackling at their feet. “We can’t bring him into the Cradle right now, he’d be a liability in the middle of a fight.”

Tim’s mind was warring with itself, countless possibilities and contingencies and an overarching haze of green, burning anger. He shook himself fiercely spun away from the other two, sprinting towards where the transport vehicle sat in waiting.

“Wait here with him, until the White Ghost comes to pick him up,” Red Robin barked over his shoulder, “I’ll go on ahead.”

Any protest on Pru’s part was lost in the wind as he dove off the edge of the roof, ears full of an unnatural ringing.

Tam was still at the Cradle.

\---

Tim had never been so thankful for Bruce’s over-paranoid urge to teach his Robin’s every feasible skill they could need one day. In this case, that skill was flying a high-performance helicopter at top speed towards an enemy layer. Flying is one of the things that had been forged into his muscle memory.

He had found it fitting, at the time, that the Bat was teaching Robin to fly.

_But what does that make me now?_

With how much green was flooding in and out of his vision that Bat-trained instinct is probably the only reason he hadn’t crashed. As it was Tim was struggling to stay focused on the present with an amalgamation of memories pressing against his skull.

Tim is watching his parents step out the doorway, suitcases in hand. They hardly spare a glance back towards the small boy watching them leave with a blank face and trembling hands.

_You’re not strong enough._

Tim is sprinting across the destroyed landscape that was once a city, towards the small crowd of capes that stood in a loose circle around an unmoving form in a black T-shirt. Their faces read pity, their stances exhaustion and mournful acceptance. They all step away as the young boy falls to his knees beside his friends stilled body. Only the tall figure in black stays close. 

The scene glitches- Connor, Steph, Dad, Bart, Bruce. All of them, dead. It seems to hold on Bruce’s for a bit longer than the others, letting him soak in the anguish of the helplessness and grief of his mentors- of his father’s? friends?- death. _All my fault._

_You can’t protect them._

Then there's Dick. Dick, who had called him just to see how he was doing, Dick who had helped train him, who had hung out with him both by day and night, who had always promised to be there for him.

Dick, who had taken away Robin without hesitation, giving it to the boy who regularly threatened murder, while looking down on Jason for doing practically the same thing. Dick who- for all he spouted about trusting Tim as an equal- wouldn’t listen when Tim tried to tell him that things didn’t add up.

Dick who had called him crazy and practically forced him away.

_They never cared about you._

The hazy, green tinged outline of the Cradle on the horizon, growing larger as Tim approached the landing pad. 

_You can’t do anything right as you are now._

Tim had his feet on the landing pad before the blades of the copter had come close to stilling. It was go time.

Even through the haze of panic and fury, Tim could process that the Cradle was eerily empty. When he had walked the halls only hours earlier they had been full of life, flitting black shadows around less stealthy maintenance workers, a general hum of energy and movement. 

Now, everything was still.

Red Robin- the boy was far too deep into turmoil to function as Tim Drake right now- stalked soundlessly through the halls, trying to find any sign of his quarry without alerting them to his presence. Now that he was so close, the chaotic whirl of his mind had sharpened, focused on one thing: Tam.

_Find her, protect her, don’t fail her like you did all the others._

There, up ahead- a distant shriek.

Red ran.

Time stretched and shrank and folded in over itself, the edges of his mind that had been so out of focus filling with the increasingly familiar tinge of green fury.

_How dare they threaten her, how dare they challenge me._

The end of the hall- _how far have I run?_ \- opened into a wider cavern, scattered with the fallen forms of ninja, only a couple still standing to try and defend their comrades. Among them- against them- were the outliers, the ones who were mostly human but also not, who were here to put on a show. Who got enjoyment from the pain beyond following their leader’s orders.

_So much pain. Too much blood spilled._

Red Robin paused. Red Robin analyzed the situation as trained, counting numbers, starting to catalog strengths and weaknesses of the unknowns. But what he really wanted to find was a familiar face among the crowd- the one who had drawn him here.

And there, back pressed against the far wall, face twisted with panic. The smallest of cuts on her forehead leaking a slow trail of blood as she was boxed in by two of the enemy, gripping a broken off piece of wood tightly. Tam.

_Too much pain._

Tim’s world flooded completely, luminescently green, and for once, he let go, sinking into the anger with a relish.

_It won’t happen again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe... cliffhanger anyone?
> 
> Next week: The aftermath
> 
> Stay safe my friends!


	4. Like a Knife Through the Woods (You Hunt Down the Good In Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has some experiences and realizations that he really wishes he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh your guys's response I am shook. I hope you enjoy this one <3
> 
> (Fair warning that the beginning is a bit more graphic than anything I've done here previously, so if that could be a concern maybe skip the first section. I can add a brief summary at the end of the chapter later if enough people request it but I feel like the second section discusses it just enough that you can get the idea without being too bad? IDK let me know if you think I need to adjust tags or something. )
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from The Good in Me by Jon Bellion (which I feel is a very fitting theme to Ra's and Tim's relationship in this fic)

When Tim slowly comes back to awareness, it’s a gradual thing. 

The first thing that registers is sound. Someone is whimpering, obviously in fear. 

The second thing to register is the smell. Something metallic and wet and decaying, things associated in his mind with the times the nights in Gotham went wrong, with pain. 

Sensation is third. Most of this comes in the form of the Red Robin suit’s familiar weight, but it's wrong. There are points of heavy, wet stickiness soaking through the suit, especially around his arms. More notable, though, is the bone deep ache throughout his muscles. There was a heavy weight in his right hand. 

Another blink, and Tim’s eyes finally focus again. And he wishes they hadn’t.

The cavern he could only faintly remember entering before he blacked out was a scene of carnage. The ninja who had fallen previously had somehow been moved to the edges of the room when Tim was unaware. Those who were still standing did so in a ring against the wall, staring at him defensively but making no move towards him. Tim barely noticed them, eyes locking onto the source of the noises that had first pulled him back up.

_ Tam. _

Brain lagging a bit, Tim took a stumbling step towards her, muscles shaking, the object in his hand dragging ever so slightly on the ground.

“Tam,” he choked out, throat unexpectedly rough. 

The ninja moved as one to condense in front of him, with a few still keeping him surrounded. They were… scared of him? Defending Tam against him?  _ What?  _ Another step, and his foot hit something, almost bringing him to the ground with his current lack of muscle control.

Tim glanced down, and suddenly everything snapped into gory clarity. 

At his feet was the hulking figure of the mutant Council of Spiders member, limbs sprawled at awkward angles, slices scattered over his limbs and torso. He was clearly dead. And to either side of the creature- in a rough circle around Tim- were the other six Council members who had been present. 

All injured, all dead. Centered around him… 

The pieces finally clicked when Tim caught sight of his uniform. Marked with scratches that didn’t break through the armor plating. Soaked in a dark, thick liquid. Blood. He was covered in blood, almost completely soaked up to his elbows and splashed over his chest, barely visible on the black-and-red. The object in his arms- a heavy sword he’d never seen before- also coated in red gore. 

The Council was dead. Tim had-

The world seemed to invert around him. Tim stumbled back. The sword slipped from his grip with a clang.

The communicator in his ear chimed as a channel opened, pulling Tim ever so slightly out of his spiral of panic.

“Ah, Timothy. Are you back with us now?”

Tim’s eyes were struggling to focus again, his blinking growing heavy. Had they shot him with a tranquilizer again? This seemed different, a bone deep pull away from reality as he fought to reconcile. His mind shutting down to avoid processing.

“Yeah. Yeah, I-” Tim’s knees buckled all at once, vision going dark.

This time, the darkness was accompanied by a sense of relief at the escape.

\---

When Tim’s eyes opened again, he was back in the room that had slowly become his here in the Cradle, accumulating tech and gifted weapons and research notes. He sat up slowly, muscles crying out in pain like he had never felt as he struggled to pull himself upright on the bed. He had been changed out of the Red Robin uniform, he noticed quickly, and into a loose t-shirt and cotton pants. 

There was still a faint red/brown staining on his hands.

Ra's was reclining in the chair near Tim's bed, much like he had been the first time Tim had woken here. The immortal was relaxed, obviously content to wait for his latest fixation to wake up on his own. When Tim started pulling himself upright he shifted forward as if to help him, but he pulled back when Tim shot him a toned down glare.

"Good morning, Timothy. How are you feeling?"

Tim eyed the immortal warily, put on edge by the overly warm greeting. Ra's had been gradually attempting to grow closer to Tim over the past few weeks, as if having a better relationship would make Tim more inclined to follow his orders without protest. An attempt to induce Stockholm Syndrome by marketing himself as the caring mentor, perhaps. As if Tim hadn't already made a deal with the devil. As if he hadn't just-

"Oh my god," he gasped, throat suddenly tight at the invasion of green-tinged memories, mostly sensations and emotions. Tears threatened to push at his eyes for the first time since Bruce's disappearance, but didn’t fall. He was too well trained at controlling his emotions to cry here. "Oh my god, what did I do."

“You do remember then,” Ra’s noted passively, watching the boy before him with a careful calm. “I wasn’t certain that you would, even if your body is surprisingly tolerant of the Pit’s influence.”

The confirmation did nothing to dull the sudden wave of panic that threatened to burst Tim open at the seams. His chest and throat tightened further, it was hard to breathe. His vision, rather than flooding with green, started to lose focus and darken.

A warm, unexpected hand on his shoulder, accompanied by a deep, calm voice, managed to break through the thickening fog.

“Breathe, Timothy,” Ra’s ordered from where he now leaned on the edge of the bed. “In and out, just like that. There is really no need to overreact like this.”

“My one rule,” Tim managed to choke out, eyes squeezing shut. “It was the last thing that I held on to, and I just-”

“The first time you lose control- the first time you take a life- will always be the hardest. But you are extremely resilient. That’s one of the reasons that I have chosen you as my heir. You’ll recover quickly.”

Tim’s breathing finally settled into a steady, more healthy rhythm, and Ra’s released his grip, shifting smoothly to slip back into his chair like he had never left it. A part of Tim mourned the loss of physical contact, no matter how much he knew, logically, that relying on the Demon’s Head for reassurance was a very dangerous game. The rest of him was so desperate for approval that he barely cared, and wasn’t that a depressing thought?

His world was tearing itself apart from the inside out, and Ra’s was offering the first shred of warm human contact that Tim had received since he fled Gotham. The boy had grown up alone, he knew how to function by himself, but he was also intimately aware of how that kind of deprivation makes him latch onto the first person willing to show any form of affection. Wasn’t that how he ended up with Bruce and Dick in the first place? Isn’t that lapse ultimately what led him to this moment?

So Tim knew, logically, that he should ignore the wiggling protest as Ra’s pulled away, and outwardly he made sure to show no sign of discontent. But internally, emotionally and physically, Tim’s subconscious mind fought towards the pull of comfort as his world continued to crumble.

Tim took another deep breath, to settle himself. Ra’s watched silently, eyes analytical as he watched Tim meticulously pull his walls back into place. When the glass of water was offered, Tim took it and sipped mechanically.

“That cannot happen again,” Tim finally said, placing the glass aside with a dull  _ thunk _ .

“I agree that such lapses of control are far from ideal if you are ever out in the field. It takes time to learn to control the surge of emotion and strength you are now possessed with when under pressure. I shall contemplate the best way to simulate it in your training.”

The easy statement of Ra’s control over Tim’s future pulled at his already frayed nerves, his body tensing at the thought of the kind of missions the Demon certainly had in mind for him. The part of Tim that always fought to be in control chafed at the restrictions.

“Technically the second part of our deal hasn’t yet taken place. I took out the Council as repayment for your help thus far, even if it didn’t exactly go to plan. There is nothing stopping me from leaving now to find my own resources.”

Ra’s raised an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“And where would you go. Back to Gotham, or the Titans? Do you think that they would react calmly if you were to show up at their door with the waters of Lazarus flowing through your veins so strongly? With blood on your hands? They won’t understand. You’ve seen how the Bats reacted to your predecessor’s return, and to his new mission. Do you really think they’d accept you? They already accused you of going insane, no?”

And Tim… he had no response to that. Ever since Jason had come back, the hero community had mostly locked him out, calling him an antihero at best and a villain at worst. Tim had never been completely convinced that the older boy's new system of dealing with crime was all that bad, to be honest. There had been a sharp decrease in violent crime in his territory… and yet he was still held back, practically at knifepoint, when other heros who had killed under even less strenuous circumstances than Lazarus Pit influence were accepted back easily. 

There was clearly a bias there, right?

Tim had already been thrown out of the ring, just for daring to say that everyone might be wrong. They had already made it clear that he wasn’t wanted anymore. Trying to return as an undead murderer would never be an option for him. Maybe if Bruce was still around… but that was the problem, wasn’t it?

_ Your life exchanged for his. You can be lost as long as he is returned. After Bruce is back, what does it matter what happens to you? _

“Your place is here now,” Ra’s pressed again. “There are no other options if you wish to save the Detective.”

“You’re right,” Tim admitted finally. “There isn’t another choice. Sorry”

“Don’t fret, dear Timothy. I understand that this is an adjustment for you, and I don’t intend to push too much onto you too soon. You are to be my heir, and that means that I must take my time as we untrain the unrealistic morals that the Detective has forced upon you all these years. There is no reason to rush into things thoughtlessly when we have all the time in the world to make sure that you are ready.”

And wasn’t that a strong declaration of intent. Tim honestly didn’t know how to process that level of attention towards him.

_ Who else has ever cared that much. Bruce, maybe. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? _

“What’s next, then?” Tim dared ask. “I assume that you won’t be content just to let me try and track Bruce for however long that takes. What do you expect from me?”

Ra’s tilted his head to the side in contemplation, as if he didn’t already have his moves for the next ten years already drafted. Tim  _ had  _ been in the League’s system, after all.

“For now, I expect you to get a few more hours of rest,” Ra’s ordered, silencing Tim’s protest with a glare. “There’s no way you could convince me that your body isn’t in pain right now. I remember what it’s like when you fall too deeply into the haze. I watched the recording, you were definitely teetering on the edge of your physical limits this time. Rest, let yourself recover. As you’ve no doubt noticed, Lazarus water does a lot to speed along recovery even after you’ve left the pool.

“After that, we can discuss your options. Your end of our first deal is completed, so your guest can now be sent home safely. I’m sure you’ll have some input on how that should be done. As you mentioned, any resources you need in order to continue your search for the Detective will be given upon request. Your current training in weaponry will continue apace, alongside some lessons more focused on management and strategy and the League’s history to further hone your mind. In time you’ll be assigned missions, either as strategist or participant. But all of that can be discussed further after you are properly recovered.”

Ra’s stood from his usual chair, glancing at Tim with an unusual expression, something bordering on expectation and pride and ownership that Tim didn’t know how to respond to. One of his hands briefly found its way to Tim’s shoulder once again, giving the lightest squeeze, and Tim had to fight not to automatically lean into the hold.

“Sleep, Timothy.”

Ra’s excused himself from Tim’s room, closing the door firmly behind him. Tim was left alone, blinking into the dim light filtering through the blinds of the window.

_ What the hell am I getting myself into? _

\---

As the dust settles further, Tam finally gets sent back to Gotham. She and Tim only get to talk for a few moments before her departure, just days after the attack. The brief conversation is just long enough for Tim to give her a signed paper and a reminder of what to say about the last few weeks, and for Tim to attempt a lousy apology for what was likely the most traumatic vacation of Tam’s life. Nothing he could have said seemed to cover it.

Throughout the entire discussion, Tam wouldn’t meet his eyes. It made Tim sad, but he could understand why she was afraid. She did, however, glance back at him as she boarded the plane, as if searching for something. Tim’s face is held carefully expressionless as he nodded to her.

She disappears into the plane, it takes off for Gotham, and Tim is alone.


	5. Fuzzy Feeling and I’ll Miss You (Why Can Nothing Stay the Same)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies when you're living with a group of assassins ruled over by a immortal megalomaniac and trying to track your ~~dad~~ mentor through time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so. This was supposed to be posted yesterday. Oops. 
> 
> Happy Easter for those of you who celebrate it, and happy Sunday to everyone else. Stay safe, 2020 is a crazy time to be alive. Social distancing! Constant vigilance!
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from Pigeon by Cavetown

After Tam had been confirmed as safely returned to Gotham, Tim’s time with the League fell into a new sort of normal. He wakes up with the sunrise when one of Ra’s non-ninja servants delivers his breakfast and (despite Tim’s assurance that he could do it himself) fills up a water basin and lays out an appropriate outfit for the day’s activities. 

Other than insisting that ‘this is my duty to the house of al Ghul’ and ‘I insist that I must, sir’ the servant, a young man that Tim has taken to calling Adam in his head for lack of an alternative, practically refuses to make conversation past ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’. He just makes sure that Tim is awake and has everything he needs for the morning before disappearing within fifteen minutes of his arrival. 

Tim is determined to get him to break character one day if they’re going to be seeing each other so often, but so far he's been unsuccessful.

After Adam has made his exit, Tim is left alone for an hour to wash up a bit, dress, and eat before his assigned training partner for the day comes knocking on his door. Pru for firearms, Kazuya for archery, and Khalid with hand to hand are all the most common, with occasional breaks for refreshers with the bo staff or thrown weapons such as knives or shuriken. He only trained in swordsmanship with Desmond for a few weeks after The Event before he was deemed more than competent, and how his sword days are usually spent sparring with various opponents in an effort to teach him what only practical experience can. 

Ra’s is more likely to make an appearance during these spars than on any other day, though rarely will he engage himself. He simply watches for a few rounds, analyzing Tim’s movements, making analysis of his progress as only Ra’s could. 

He has always disappeared by the time that Tim’s mandated two hours of physical training are up.

After the morning’s exercises, Tim usually takes a moment to wash up in the already prepared bath (he suspects Adam) and dress in more casual clothing before retreating to the computer hub that has essentially become his office over the past few months, following his transition from tracking the Council to tracking Bruce. 

Reference texts, scattered notes and calculations, and important photographs are scattered across the tables in a way that looks chaotic but makes perfect sense to Tim. The cleaning staff were banned from the room by the end of week one to make sure everything stayed in place as Tim struggled to piece together timelines and decipher the where, when, why, and for how long of Bruce’s travels through time. 

It hadn’t taken long to confirm that he had been thrown backwards and was accelerating forwards, and Tim will forever be thankful that he didn’t take too long to gather the right pieces and miss his one opportunity to pull Bruce out of the loop without requiring access to a time machine. 

(That technology, despite Ra’s vast resources, was one still largely in control of the hero community, and Tim didn’t like his chances at getting access to that kind of tech at the moment).

After a couple hours had passed, one of Ra’s attendants would appear in the doorway to announce that it was lunchtime. And lunchtime always meant taking the meal with Ra’s. These daily, private meetings had been mostly awkward in nature for the first week or so, but over time a… familiarity had built between the two of them. Tim would talk about his morning- what happened during training if Ra’s hadn’t been there, and any progress or roadblocks he had uncovered in his Bruce tracking research. Ra’s, in turn, would tell Tim about his morning in the life of running a worldwide empire of ninja spy-assassins. How candid Ra’s was about the day to day problems that he faced never ceased to surprise the younger man.

_ If I ever found myself working against him again… but I guess I’m here right now because I’ve bound myself to his service in the first place. I shouldn’t even think about it. _

The hour or two following lunch was also spent with Ra’s, something Tim could dub nothing else but Heir Training. This time was used to educate Tim in history, languages, strategy, poisons and remedies, the various allies and enemies collected over the years, personal fighting tactics, basically anything and everything the rather eccentric immortal decided Tim would find useful at some point. The method of teaching varied from practical demonstrations to assigned readings to what was more or less a school lecture. Sometimes a separate tutor would be brought in, and Ra’s would retreat to the edges of the room to observe from afar as only he could.

To break up the monotony of their daily routines, Ra’s claimed when asked. Tim suspected that the older man was just enjoying having someone he could use as a distraction, someone he could show off his vast repertoire of knowledge to and who had no excuse (that Ra’s would accept) to get away from the lecture when he started pulling out the detailed diagrams.

It was almost… endearing? In a creepy, megalomaniac, totally trying to brainwash Tim further into the fold while watching for signs of betrayal kind of way. Tim chose to just not think about it too hard and did his best to memorize everything that was offered to him. (Ra’s had threatened written exams if he thought Tim wasn’t paying enough attention, and  _ that  _ was not something that Tim ever wanted to be forced to experience.)

In later weeks, Ras’ lessons began to also feature stress response strategies in hopes of preventing Tim from having another Lazarus rage episode. It was mainly just breathing exercises and dedicated meditation time for now, but Ras’ long term plan featured mock scenarios or even carefully observed, real missions since, according to him, the best teaching method was real experience.

Tim, naturally, was very apprehensive about this proposition, seeing as the last time he got put into an actual combat position had ended…  _ very  _ poorly. But it’s not like he was in a position to speak against Ra’s here, so for now he let it be.

Whenever Ra’s saw fit to release Tim back out to his own devices again, Tim would dive straight back into Bruce-tracking for at least the next few hours. A lot of the time, he would take his dinner while working in order to get as much done as possible, since he was all too aware that he was on the clock here. (Attempting to skip the meal altogether had not gone over well the few times he attempted it).

Occasionally but with a growing frequency, Pru or another assassin he had met (befriended?) over the past few months would appear around dinner time and drag him into a variety of social events they seemed to always be holding throughout the Cradle, insisting that he needed a break. These… parties? Were always surprising in their normality. Uno in particular seemed to be unexpectedly popular among Ra’s network of employed hitmen. 

Tim had quickly earned himself a fair bit of a reputation in strategy games, which only incited them to invite him to their semi-secret gatherings more often. Curse his tendency to show off when given the chance.

No matter where Tim was, Adam would almost always track Tim down by midnight to prompt him (never a direct order, but definitely a strong suggestion) towards bed, appearing every half an hour in case Tim had forgotten. 

Should Tim still be awake (and almost always doing research) by 2am, a more assertive force of Ras’ personal guards would appear to escort Tim to his room (non-violently) whether he wanted to or not. One time when Ra’s was away and Tim thought he was home free, he had been manhandled into bed by a very irritated Pru. Word of the attempted subterfuge must have reached Ra’s, because the next time he was away for business Tim had a group of friendly assassins dogging his steps from sundown onward.

_ Apparently Ra’s was very serious about making sure I get those minimum hours of sleep each night. Figures he would be the one to finally crack down after years of people not really caring. He’s even watching my damn coffee intake, the jerk. _

So Tim would blearily stumble his way back to his room, peel himself out of his outer clothes, and collapse onto the comfortable bed to knock out for the night.

And the next day, the cycle continues.

\---

Tim frowned at the target as he finished emptying the clip on his rifle, eyeing the spread of the shots across the vaguely human-shaped figure. Logistically, he could understand why aiming at the wider chest area of the target made the most sense while he was learning accuracy, but the real world comparison of shooting at someone's chest still bothered him even after around three months of training. Still, training was training, and while guns were never going to be his preferred weapon, practicing was nonetheless a good distraction, and there was no doubt that he was making significant progress.

_ ‘Watch out Hood, I'm coming for your shtick, in more ways than the obvious,’ _ he mused to himself, letting out a quiet snort of amusement at the expression he could imagine the former Robin making.

To his right, Pru lowered her own firearm, glanced at him in response to the small sound despite the fact that they were both wearing heavy duty ear protection at the moment and surrounded by other assassins currently taking practice shots.

She raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her head in a way that clearly translated to 'What's so funny, nerd?' Tim just shrugged and wiggled his eyebrows back, in a 'wouldn't you like to know' fashion. She snorted in amusement, shaking her head and turning away just as the previous targets finished switching out with a new one.

Both of them returned to the task at hand, warmed by the easy comradery that had slowly developed over time.

_ Maybe it's not all bad here. _

\---

Tim scanned furiously over the number readouts the program was giving him, a series of locations and times plotted based off of all of the knowledge he had managed to scrape up, predictions based on areas that he couldn't confirm and those that had not yet occurred (and yet they had occurred in a manner of speaking? Time travel was  _ wild _ ). All of his work over the past months came down to this.

If this was right (and everything seemed to be lining up), Bruce was currently hopping around somewhere in the early 1900's. If he looked now, Tim was sure he could find a couple references to a mysterious dark haired stranger somewhere in an European archive of the time period, likely somehow involved in the approaching World War if Tim knew anything about Bruce and his inability to leave well enough alone when he was already dealing with enough. And projecting that pattern a bit further forward...

A date within their range- three days from now. A location- not all that far from the Cradle, as a matter of fact. And a window of time, only five minutes long (give or take a few nanoseconds) in which to do whatever it would take to clear or block the Omega Particles surging through Bruce's system so that he didn't just blow past where he belonged.

Tim immediately printed out the page, lunged for his research notes into what kind of supplies would be necessary for such a task, and bolted to find Ra's.

\---

The immortal glanced at Tim over the pages detailing the numbers that had been his whole purpose for so long now, raising a pointed brow at the teen’s unusual show of nerves. Tim quickly straightened his posture to meet the elders gaze.

“It seems you’ve finally created a successful model to track the Detective’s return. And luckily enough for us, he’s set to arrive in the desert not a day's drive from here. Much better than trying to dodge hero’s to get there in time. The time period he is to remain in place leaves little room for error, however.”

“He’s been accelerating forward from when he was first dropped. Based off of the readings I could get from the recovered objects, the Omega Particles Darkseid hit him with are expelling themselves and speeding him forward as they do. He should almost be cleansed of them, maybe another five stops, and then he’ll start decelerating again. But by that point he’ll have overshot by a couple of centuries, and it will be much harder to reach him.”

Ra’s nodded, obviously having come to the same conclusions.

“And you are almost positive that one of the inhibitor collars will work to hold him in our time long enough to,” Ra’s glanced back at the paper, “‘analyze the energy still clinging to his body and find a way to counter the effects’?”

Tim nodded, aware of the audience that was growing in the shadows of the hall he had found Ra’s in. No time to be self-conscious of the attention now.

“Yes, Sir. The Metahuman Inhibitor Devices have long been tested as useful against a variety of abilities beyond just the meta gene. If I can get my hands on one it should be easy enough to attune it to block the Omega beams from continuing to expel so that he’ll stop being pulled into the timestream. It won’t permanently remove them, but once I can get some scans from the source- Bruce, that is- I should be able to figure out the right set of frequencies to counteract the pull. Then we can remove the Inhibitor safely.”

The Demon’s Head looked up again, eyes sharp, before ever so slightly softening his demeanor as if just noticing the intensity he had been displaying. 

“No need to be so formal with me, Timothy. You’ve done a good job, as I knew you would. We should have the necessary equipment in storage, it can all be sent out to the target destination as soon as tomorrow morning, along with a sufficient force to set up and maintain a temporary base around the area for the next week or so. You’ll be overseeing, of course. For now take a break and get something to eat, then meet me at my office in an hour and a half to discuss details. Understood?”

“Yes, Ra’s.”

“Perfect. You are dismissed then.”

It was all Tim could do to calmly tilt his head in goodbye and turn to exit the room, pushing through the throng of overexcited ninja. The news of the large-scale upcoming mission lead by the heir-to-be himself would already be spreading through the compound like wildfire. Tim would be watched more carefully than ever over the coming days, and he couldn’t afford to slip up, shoving down the surging excitement and green-tinged nerves that floated at the edge of his awareness. He had a job to do.

But when a swarm of assassins led by Pru herself jumped at him excitedly as he rounded the final corner to his room, drinks and snacks already in hand to celebrate the coming success, Tim let himself relax into the first genuine smile in over half a year.

\---

Knocking purposefully on the door to Ra’s office, Tim waited patiently for permission to enter before even so much as reaching for the handle. The confirmation comes quickly, a bit muffled by the thick wood of the door, and Tim slips inside. 

Tim had been in this room before, though rarely. As such, he spared a few moments to scan over the familiar interior. The office had a sort of old but high class charm that matched Ra’s tastes perfectly. Wooden bookshelves started halfway down the walls on Tim’s left and right, bridging the corners to also follow the wall behind Ra’s, but stopped short in the middle to make way for an intricate stained glass window. The room was lit by sunlight now, but Tim knew that there were hidden, low level lights for when Ra’s was forced to work late. The floor was a dark wood, with a green rug placed perfectly centered underneath the ancient mahogany desk behind which Ra’s was currently sitting.

Ra’s raised an appraising eyebrow as Tim paused his approach just short of the carpet. The two stared at each other silently for a few moments before Ra’s huffed out a breath of exasperation.

“Sit down, Timothy. There’s no need to be formal in private.”

So Tim crept forward and dropped carefully into the proffered chair, but he still refused to relax fully in Ra’s presence. This new dynamic Ra’s continued to insist on was still largely uncomfortable for him, no matter how many times they had interacted like this. 

The unease was still there, the prickles of discomfort accentuated by the green-tinged impulses that followed him. Ra’s may have gained his servitude, but that didn’t mean that Tim had fully accepted the man's attempts to present himself as Tim’s new… mentor?  _ Father figure _ ? Tim wasn’t even sure what the immortal was pushing for anymore.

While part of him longed to sink further into the offered role, the other side of him- the side that was still  _ Robin _ , still  _ Bruce’s _ \- continued to resist, and that made interacting like this hard. It was always easiest to get through the conversations quickly and leave to analyze Tim’s shifting internal debate to try and make sense of it.

“So,” Tim hedged. “What did you want to talk about? I assume you read through my basic plan by now. Is there something you want me to change?”

Ra’s accepted the jump to business easily.

“Only a couple small details in regards to the number of guards and the like. That can be hammered out in a bit, but first…”

Ra’s stood, momentarily pressing his palms to the desk before languidly strolling around it and towards the bookshelf sitting to Tim’s right. Tim spun to watch his progress as the immortal continued.

“As I said earlier, you will be leading this mission. Your first task outside of the Cradle since the Council of Spiders incident, as I am sure you are already all too aware of. Leading a big mission like this will garner you around here. Be careful to behave accordingly.”

“Of course,” Tim said quickly.

Ra’s turned to meet his gaze, leaning against the shelf he had now reached.

“Good. Then, there is also the matter of what to do about your uniform and field identity. You aren’t exactly in a position to roam the world as Timothy Drake-Wayne, and as you’ve no doubt confirmed that the Red Robin suit you were using previously was beyond repair after your last battle.” Tim winced internally at the reminder.

“As such,” Ra’s continued, turning again to face the bookshelf. He reached up to tug on a specific volume, and the entire shelf started to slide to the slide. Tim was hardly surprised. “I contracted a couple of designers to create a new uniform, keeping in mind your developing preferences. I hope the final result is to your liking.”

A steel vault door had been revealed, which required Ra’s to perform a series of fingerprint and biometric scans before the system beeped in acceptance and the heavy door swung outward. 

When Ra’s turned back towards him, Tim managed to reboot his brain enough to scramble to his feet and make his way to the newly-revealed door. Ra’s stood stock still at the door as Tim stepped over the threshold, appraising the hidden armory that had been revealed.

The variety of ornate weapons lining the metallic walls and shelves were fascinating, no doubt Ra’s private collection gathered over centuries. But Tim’s eyes were drawn to the center of the room and the display there.

In the center was a pair of mannequins, both nearly a perfect match to Tim’s height and build (again prompting Tim to wonder when exactly Ra’s had managed to get his measurements). The one on Tim’s left sported the main suit. The armored vest, gloves, and boots were a deep grey/black, the undershirt and leggings a slightly lighter grey. Tim could easily spot the armor plating beneath the flexible material. Overall the design was very reminiscent of his past vigilante uniforms, making it easy for the wearer (him) to adjust. Getting closer, Tim could make out hints of gold along the seams and detailing.

The rightmost mannequin was less heavily adorned, sporting only a heavy-duty yellow-gold utility belt and a long cape with a detachable hood and gold fastenings. Tim privately raised an eyebrow at the familiar green coloration to the last piece. Ra’s influence on the design was clear there. There was also a lightweight mask meant to fit over the lower half of his face, likely to help hide his identity in place of a cowl or domino.

_ Probably a good idea. My face is too well known in some parts of the world, and a domino would be… a bit too close right now. And I never really liked the cowl. _

A table off to the right held the final pieces- an elegant carbon steel hand-and-a-half sword and a .45 caliber pistol were the main points of attention, presented in black cases. Off to the side of those sat a smaller case with a black com piece, an updated version to the one that Tim had been carrying around since before arriving at the Cradle.

It was that he finally reached to pick up, fidgeting with the small device as he turned back to where Ra’s was observing from just inside the doorway.

“Well Timothy, what do you think? Does the design meet your approval?”

Tim nodded once, concise. “It will work perfectly, I think. If any small issues pop up we can make adjustments later.”

Ra’s nodded in acknowledgement, taking a few steps forward and tilting his head inquisitively.

“And what would you like to be referred to as in this uniform? I believe you are long past the point where Red Robin would feel applicable.”

Tim turned away to run a finger along the length of the new sword, the smooth surface semi-reflective in the artificial lighting.  _ Robin _ … no. Robin hadn’t fit him for a long time, Red or otherwise. The name had always been temporary, something he had picked up out of necessity and an inability to let go of the vestiges of his past. But Red Robin had never been his, and it certainly didn’t fit him now any more than it did then. 

But what came next, for the boy who had lost everything?

Facing away from Ra’s, Tim let a rather grim smile slide across his features. He knew exactly what he was.

“Call me Ghost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you think of my solution to the "how to get Bruce back" problem. I don't really like/understand the cannon there, and it doesn't really work in this context, so I'm trying something different. I don't really like it, so its possible some stuff gets adjusted later if I have a brainblast at some point in the future but for now this is it. Feel free to tell me what you think :)
> 
> Next chapter: A wild Batman appears?!?!


	6. I Loved and I Loved (and I Lost You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bat returns, and conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! I am extremely excited to be posting this chapter, as the second half is really what prompted the creation of this fic in the first place. It feels good to finally reach this point.
> 
> But also... I kind of have a small confession to make. When I started posting this fic, I had already had a couple of chapters pre-written. I figured it would act as a buffer in case my class/homework schedule exploded for a week or two. I figured that the lead would let me keep posting consistently until I hit summer break and got more free time... and then the pandemic started in full. So now I'm stumbling through online classes and have, somehow, managed to run out of prewritten chapters. Oops.
> 
> All this to say, there might be a bit of delay on the next few, until I can sort out a writing schedule of sorts. Logic says I have the time to keep up with how I've been posting once a week, but knowing me I'll figure out how to overwhelm myself with work and end up delayed. So if there's no chapter this time next week, don't panic! I promise it's coming eventually. I also may branch out a bit and write a couple one shots if I start getting distracted by other ideas... as long as I'm writing you know? But this story is going to be my main focus for a while yet so no worries there.
> 
> Anyways, enough rambling. On to the chapter!
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie (this chapters overall theme, and the inspiration for this fic!)

Tim-  _ Ghost _ \- anxiously looked over the multiple screens again, confirming for probably the hundredth time that none of the numbers had changed since he had last checked. He was checking and rechecking locations, times of Bruce’s return, the numbers so dependent on the constantly-gathering information about his former mentor’s current journey through the late 1900’s that any sudden additional information could throw an entire wrench in the plan. If Tim had missed  _ anything _ …

That’s not even mentioning the essentially infinite possibilities the secondary system was currently running through to try and find the right combination of injections and energy exposure would be needed to remove the Omega Particles all at once rather than let them dissipate naturally once Bruce was well past the 3000’s.

And  _ that’s _ not even including all of the security and communication set ups that Tim was currently juggling between to coordinate the spread of ninja footsoldiers and overly excited scientists Ra’s had insisted would be useful. They couldn’t risk that the Justice League’s satellite array might happen to pick up on the strange energy readings and large gathering of people and come investigating just in time to get in the way, so shielding was a must. 

It was safe to say that Tim was sufficiently busy at the moment.

_ Five minutes to showtime. _

“Ah, Ghost. Right where I expected you would be.”

_ Speak of the devil. _

“Ra’s. Come to watch the show?” Tim spun around to stalk past the immortal and lead the way out of the control room and towards the center of the base that hadn’t existed days prior. 

Days spent in the middle of a chaos storm of organization and calculation and dealing with malfunctioning equipment and very,  _ very _ little sleep on Tim’s part.

_ It’s all worth it to prove that you were right, that he is alive. It’s worth it to ensure that all of this work isn’t for nothing. You can’t fail to save him again. _

The green edge to his anxiety surely didn’t help the situation all that much, but what was new these days, right?

Ra’s seemed to take Tim’s hyperfocus on the task at hand in stride. The small group silently and efficiently made their way through the small city of tents and into the central structure of pale fabric that stood high above them all. The group currently standing guard at the main entrance quickly stood aside to let Ghost through.

Tim noticed in the back of his mind that Ra’s had followed him in, but decided that it didn’t matter right now. Not when there was only a minute left.

“Are all the preparations we discussed finished?” Tim barked at the young man - _ still a bit older than me though- _ that he had left in charge earlier. The ninja nodded quickly in response.

“Yes Ghost, sir. The groups are all assigned and told to be on standby in case the Detective starts showing signs of aggression. All the group leads have tranquilizers and all lethal weaponry has been temporarily confiscated.”

“Perfect, then it’s go time.”

Tim’s small wrist computer (an over glorified smart watch really) signaled the time just as the space in the center of the tented area started to flood with light from somewhere near the ceiling, the mass of black uniforms drawing further into the shadows at the edge of the room as the light source made itself known.

And just like that, the Batman dropped into the center of the ninja-circle, and Tim’s mind stuttered to a halt out the sight of the ever familiar pointed ears of the cowl.

As Bruce pulled himself up and into a defensive stance, it was clear he had had a rough time over the last months. The Dark Knight’s armor was riddled with scratches, along with some spots where the injury had clearly hit flesh. The cape was little more than shreds. One of the cowl’s ears appeared chipped.

But Bruce was  _ here, _ Bruce was  _ alive. _

_ Alivealivesavehimsavehimhelphim. _

And Bruce was. Attacking his formerly unhostile ninja guard, the man having quickly scanned the room, supposedly missed Tim, and made the conclusion that he was being cornered by the enemy. Which… fair. Maybe Tim should have thought that part through a bit more. He blamed the sleep deprivation and having spent too much time surrounded by assassins.

It only took a moment for Tim to watch the fight with analytical eyes and realize that all this would do was waste the time window that they had left. Bruce would keep fighting blindly, not realizing that none of his supposed attackers were moving to hurt him. The ninja wouldn’t have the strength to restrain the Batman completely within the window they had. They would  _ lose  _ him.

Tim was moving before he had fully processed his next course of action, Ra’s insistence that he stayed out of any fighting as much as possible pushed aside.

“Bruce,” Tim cried out, moving to push his way through the chaos that had erupted so suddenly around him. “ _ Bruce!” _

Across the room, the Bat’s eyes snapped up towards him, and the whiteouts were apparently long shattered since his pale blue eyes met Tim’s blue-green with a striking clarity.

“Tim?” the boy read on his lips, just as one of the ninja- one of the group leaders supposedly- took advantage of the Bat’s momentary lapse of concentration to tag him with a tranq. Already too weak- when is the last time Bruce  _ ate _ \- his knees buckled quickly, eyes unfocused but still locked on the boy currently darting his way across the room.

Tim practically skidded to his knees beside his mentor, modified inhibitor collar already in hand and frantically pressed around the man’s neck. His fingers flew over the button array on the device, then the small computer on his wrist, calibrating for the required power output at near inhuman speed.

The tech beeped happily, beginning to glow a dull blue. Tim fell back in a flood of relief as his timer beeped out the five minute mark and there was no sign of Bruce teleporting away again. 

_ He’sherehe’soksafesafesafe. _

The scientists and doctors flooded in from where they had been waiting on the sidelines, expertly maneuvering the large (and yet thin,  _ too  _ thin, how long has it been for him?) man onto his back and then a stretcher, ignoring where Tim had slumped in relief except for to edge carefully around him. 

Just as they got him set to move, Tim managed to pull himself to his feet again to follow, intent on guarding Bruce as the scientists worked to heal him and cleanse his body of the parasitic Omega particles, his mind honing on on the urge to  _ seeprotectdefend _ . A large, firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. Tim spun around angrily,  _ how dare they stop me _ , only to be met with Ra’s sharp, poison-green eyes. Tim’s own flashed a similar green in response to the challenge.

“Ghost!” Ra’s barked in warning at Tim’s near-instinctive growl, the immortal’s tone unusually sharp compared to how he had presented himself over the past few months. The unexpected display of anger was enough to snap Tim out of the haze he had succumbed to. Ra’s, in turn, seemed to draw a breath and hide his reactions behind his iron curtain, but the strange aura of power he was emanating remained.

“I don’t want you following them,” Ra’s ordered, silencing Tim’s attempt to complain with a grip on Tim’s forearm that bordered on painful even through the armor. 

“You will be given any updates if progress stalls or if anything goes wrong. And I will let you speak with him before he leaves much like I did with the girl, Tamara. But anything beyond that at this point would do no good to you right now. Despite your research, you are not an expert in time travel or its effects on the human body, not like those we’ve hired to care for him. An extended conversation will do you no good at this point. You are sworn to  _ my _ service, Timothy, you are  _ my _ heir,  _ my _ Ghost. As much as I have permitted your continued fixation on the Detective, he cannot play a role in your future. Is that  _ understood _ ?”

Tim’s mind warred with itself, the anger pushing him to attack, his logic urging him to just give in. He didn’t know how far Ra’s would be willing to go if Tim lashed out against him. The immortal was already on edge in a way that Tim hadn’t seen in a while, and the boy had no inclination to test how far his control went. Bruce was vulnerable right now, and the Demon’s Head would not be above hurting him to punish Tim if he acted out now.

Tim had sworn the oath. Both to save Tam and, later, to save Bruce himself. Tim  _ belonged _ to Ra’s, in all the ways that mattered. His goal, his self assigned task, had been completed. Bruce was back. But the price wasn’t yet fulfilled. This was not a battle of wills that Tim could win.

Logic took control, the green retreated from the edges of his vision, and Tim sucked in a breath, clenching his fists in frustration. The restrictions chafed, but what option did he have here? A plan formed in the back of his head, his expression kept carefully blank. That could be considered later. Tim was Ghost now, and Ghost obeyed.

“Understood,” Ghost echoed, body loosening in compliance to the order.

Ra’s pulled back, relaxing his aggressive stance some as he studied the boy before him. He didn’t find any hint of dissent there, and allowed a small smile for his new proteges' easy acceptance.

“Good. In that case, start organizing the clean up operation. Most of the forces can be sent back now, only those necessary will remain here until the Detective can be sent back to Gotham. I will be checking back in with you in a couple hours.”

“Yes sir,” Ghost confirmed, turning around to exit the central tent in the opposite direction that Bruce was taken, feeling Ra’s eyes burning into his back, a reminder of who was really in charge.

\---

Tim lasted until nightfall until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he snuck out of his private tent and into the darkness.

Finding the area where Bruce was currently being monitored from was surprisingly simple considering that Ra’s had to have a suspicion that Tim would be sneaking over to see him. Maybe it was a test of some sort, to see if Tim was really as obedient as he claimed to be earlier. Maybe doing this would only lead to more restrictions on his movements in the coming weeks and months with the League.

But Tim had to know. He  _ had _ to see that Bruce was alright with his own eyes.

The reports that had been passed on to Tim throughout the day had informed him that the Inhibitor Collar had worked perfectly with no sign of failure. The data collected by both the collar and a series of tests analyzing the energy particles Bruce had been doused in had managed to come together in a way that allowed them to siphon off the remaining excess. The collar had stayed long enough to confirm success, and then was removed. And Bruce had stayed put.

Tim had also been told that Bruce had yet to regain consciousness. The dose of sedative and his body’s relief as the strain of the Omega Particles was removed was apparently enough to push even the Batman past his limits once the sleep deprivation and malnutrition was also factored in. His vitals were stable. He would be up and ready to take on the world again by the morning. Ra’s had already scheduled his departure for tomorrow evening.

All this, Tim had been told secondhand, through a collection of messengers that had always seemed to appear just as he was starting to get antsy. But now that curfew had settled over the makeshift base only the guards currently on shift were roaming the area.

Well, them and Tim. Because the 17 year old had finally had enough. He was going to see Bruce no matter what Ra’s said. His mind wouldn’t settle without knowing.

He  _ had _ to see it himself.

So there was Tim, creeping through the shadows and dodging the patrolling ninja. He wasn’t sure what they would say if they caught him out after curfew. It could be anything from escorting him where he wanted to go themselves to restraining him and alerting Ra’s, Tim honestly had no clue what their orders were in regards to him anymore.

It was better overall that he just didn’t ever have to find out.

Eventually Tim managed to make it across the camp to the sturdy looking and well lit research-and-healthcare center of operations tents and temporary buildings. There were quite a few more guards in this area, the bright light and high tech equipment making them a bit more vulnerable than anyone here liked. Besides the roving guards, all the major buildings had a ninja or two standing in the shadows by each door and waiting on rooftops, carefully alert for potential danger.

Tim wouldn’t be able to sneak around them, not at this proximity or when the roving guards left so little space for error. Luckily for him, if his growing information network among the League members was to be believed, then right now the main entrance to where Bruce was would be guarded by-

Yup. Desmond the swordsman was on duty. And, more importantly, Desmond still owed Tim a favor after their last sparring match. So, in the brief time between the roving guards patrol pattern, Tim slipped from the deep shadows and through the entrance to the recently-constructed room, and Desmond didn’t even make a move to hint that anyone had passed by. Tim quickly but quietly eased the door closed just as the next guard rounded the corner.

Infiltration success.

As he spun away from the door, a grin played at the corners of Tim’s lips, only for it to slide away into an intense focus as the room’s contents processed. It was small, as expected, and currently just as empty of doctors as he was promised. No windows. There was only the one door- small rooms like this were much easier to construct on short notice, and the fact that it blended in with the others would make it harder for any attackers to find their target. Basic health monitoring equipment (all wired into a nearby generator) and IV’s clustered around the central bed that sat against the far wall. All the machines were beeping calmly, nothing seemingly amiss about the health of the room's sole inhabitant.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce was really  _ here _ .

Tim crept across the space between them on silent, cautious feet, irrationally convinced that any sudden movement or sound would make the sight of his former mentor and father figure vanish into thin air. But now Tim had reached Bruce’s bedside, and the man was still there, breathing slowly and deeply, face more relaxed than Tim could ever remember seeing despite the restraints that Tim could now see holding him down in case he woke when noone was there.

_ It could still be a trick _ , that dark corner of his mind tried to whisper.  _ How do you know that this is real?  _ Well, there was only one way to make his mind shut up. Shakily, Tim stretched out his arm towards Bruce, his fingertips finally brushing with a feather-light touch against the back of the older man's scarred hand where it rested on top of the thin sheet.

Warm. Alive.  _ Real. _ There was no way that Tim’s mind could have created a hallucination this realistic. Tim let out a quiet huff of air as the tension he didn’t fully realize he was carrying released from his muscles all at once. Bruce was alright, so everything was okay now. Tim could finally take a break.

He had spent too much time here already, he knew that. Ra’s would still have people coming to check on him throughout the night, paranoid as he was. Not to mention whoever would eventually be coming in to check on Bruce. Tim couldn’t stay here all night and just watch the man sleep. 

So he took a moment, then another, trying to burn the image of his mentor’s face into his brain, never to be forgotten. Another light brush between their hands, and then Tim turned away sharply all at once, ripping off the bandaid that tried to pull him back towards his past when he wanted nothing more but to follow this man to the ends of the earth if that’s what was needed. 

But Tim had known before coming here that Bruce wasn’t his anymore, not as a family member or partner in crimefighting. Tim had made his choice, and now he would follow through.

And then Tim left. Or he intended to. His fingers had just wrapped around the door handle- in preparation to crack it open and analyze the situation outside- when suddenly there was a shift of fabric from behind him.

“Tim?” Bruce questioned, voice slightly slurred with exhaustion and confusion. 

All at once, Tims muscles had locked into place like stone, adrenaline pounding through his veins because this? This was not something he had accounted for. Bruce wasn’t supposed to wake up until morning. But he couldn’t just leave now, could he? He could never resist Bruce’s call.

Ever so slowly, Tim turned back around to face the bed and the now-semiconcious man who laid there. Hazy blue eyes met green, and suddenly a bolt of comprehension shot through Bruce’s formerly unfocused expression, followed quickly with something between disbelief and grief.

“Tim. Timmy… What are you wearing? What happened while I was gone?”

Bruce was  _ never _ this straightforward with his emotions, this was more than just tiredness. They must really have him on some strong drugs for him to overreact this far.

Tim couldn't really process what Bruce was trying to ask him, though. His brain was trapped in a loop of  _ alivealivealive _ , staring at Bruce's now awake face as the older man seemed to realize that his former partner was struggling to process and stopped asking questions, instead taking the moment to study Tim as well.

"Bruce," Tim finally managed to choke out, "Bruce, you're-"

"Yeah, Tim. I'm alright," Bruce soothed, trying to sit up before frowning momentarily at the restraints he was in. His voice still with an edge of tension at all of the unknowns he had awoken to, fighting through the haze to try and process. That was fair, a lot had changed over the months that Bruce had been gone. Even Tim couldn't account for all the details at this point, if he was being honest.

"You're alright," Tim echoed, and for once it finally sunk into his mind, quelling the raging emotions that were likely dancing behind his green-tinged eyes if Bruce's tight expression was anything to go by. He managed to finally reel himself in, taking a deep breath and pulling back his shoulders as he regained control of himself. Geez, he was a mess today wasn't he?

"You're probably... extremely confused right now," Tim extrapolated cautiously, edging himself slightly closer to where Bruce was still restrained to the bed, having just managed to prop himself up a bit. "I can try to explain some of it, but there is a lot to cover and I don't really have all that much time before someone realizes that I'm missing."

"And I don't really know what's been going on in Gotham lately either," he added compulsively. That statement seemed to spark yet another layer of confusion in Bruce, one that he quickly hid in favor of pulling on his Batman mask. Professionalism first.

"Start from the beginning then. What happened after I left?”

So Tim told him, trying to keep the story unemotional and only marginally succeeding. It was so easy to relax, here with the man who had been the closest thing to a father figure Tim had for so long. Given the unexpected opportunity, Tim could feel his walls crumbling.

So he told him about the day that Superman came and tore his world apart once again. The following downward spiral that was Gotham City and the chaos around the battle between Robins to figure out who should take on the cowl in Bruce's place, and how that ended. How Tim had started piecing together small details that convinced him that Bruce was still alive, but how no one had listened to him when he tried to explain.

"No one even looked over any of the evidence you had?" Bruce interrupted, deep in thought despite how his words were ever so slightly slurred. "Dick should have at least sat down with you and gone over everything, what with your track record as a detective."

_ Exactly _ , the bitter part of his mind echoed. But expressing his frustrations wouldn't do any good at this point. Instead, Tim went for diplomacy.

"He was busy. Gotham, the Justice League, Damian... and it's not like I was doing the best job of trying to explain, looking back. It kind of makes sense that everyone just thought I was losing it."

Bruce had only frowned broodingly and prompted him to continue.

So Tim went over the days of trying to wrangle back control of the city, with him continuing to try and research around his normal duties as Robin, despite Dick's repeated comment that he should give it up. And then, the turning point: when Damian was made Robin, the argument that had ensued, and Tim's flight from Gotham.

"And no one else went looking with you? You've been trying to search the entire world for clues by  _ yourself _ ?"

"Well... like I said no one believed me. If anyone had come with me, they would have been trying to stop me the whole time anyways. They  _ did _ try to stop me. I was better off on my own, I guess." Bruce's lips had thinned even further, but he stopped asking questions once again.

Then came the desperate global search. Tim's dwindling line of clues, until he was finally down to almost nothing. He brushed over anything tied to his emotions as the depression had loomed over him, but he was almost positive Bruce picked up on it based on the grip he maintained on the bed rail throughout the first stages of Tim's solo act. Then meeting the assassin trio, their combined effort to find the final set of clues on Tim's list. And the first encounter with the Council.

Throughout the entirety of the story up to that point, Tim had managed to keep his eyes locked on Bruce's face. But when he started trying to recount that point, the moment where he made his first major mistake and everything started to slide downhill, he found himself telling it to his boots. The shifting in Bruce's breathing pattern and the creaking of the metal railing was enough for Tim. So was Bruce's conspicuous silence when Tim managed to choke out a vague description of what it was like waking up from the pit.

The rest of the story was told in even briefer detail. Tim had agreed to work with Ra's, both to take down the Council and to find Bruce. The Council had been defeated quickly. Tim had spent the following months training and tracking Bruce through time, and eventually he had succeeded in finding the pattern of his appearances and had met him here, only hours earlier.

Tim didn't go into detail. He was hesitant to give away too much information, knowing Ra's would just be even more angry if he thought that Tim was betraying him rather than just trying to update Bruce on what had occurred. And he didn’t want to be the one to tell Bruce how far he had fallen, the true depth of his failure. There's no way that Bruce didn't spot the gaps in the story, but he didn't push for more.

"So... that's it," Tim finished awkwardly. "Like I said, I don't really know much of what's going on in Gotham lately, but I'm sure that everyone there will be happy to update you once you get back tomorrow. I should probably get going now-"

"Wait," Bruce said suddenly. "You're coming with me too." His eyes narrowed when Tim didn't respond, only looking away with a closed expression as he struggled to figure out how to explain that he  _ couldn't _ . 

" _ Tim _ , you can't stay here. Everyone else in Gotham is probably extremely worried about you by now, especially since you've been so far out of contact. I know it's been tough for you but-"

"No!" Tim finally snapped, whirling back to face the older man as the green threatened to cloud over his vision. Echoes of past conversations, broken promises and broken bodies, mistake after mistake that had lead Tim here. "I can't go back, Bruce. I know you don't get it but..."

He huffed out a breath, trying to straighten his mind out again as Bruce watched with wide, always so unsure how to respond to an emotional outburst from one of his Robins. "They made it... extremely clear that I don't belong with them anymore. They tolerated me before, sure, but once you were gone that fell apart pretty quickly. They were thinking about throwing me in  _ Arkham _ , Bruce. And that was before I- before all the stuff with the League. I made a deal with Ra's that I would stay with the League in exchange for resources. If I tried to back out now, he would  _ destroy _ us. You have no clue how much he-. And, not to mention, you aren't anywhere near fighting shape right now. We aren't going to be able to fight our way out even if we tried. So we won't. I'm staying.

“ _ Tim _ ,” Bruce said again, sharply. He strained against the restraints, trying to break free, but without lockpicking supplies, and with as weak as he was from his trip through time and the drugs, Bruce was just a normal guy, and he wouldn’t be able to get out.

“Tim, I’m sure there was some sort of misunderstanding somewhere. Just come back to Gotham with me.”

"I made my choice already, Bruce. There's no other option. Sure, once I’ve earned a bit more trust from Ra’s I’ll probably be able to visit if you want but… it's probably best I don’t, all things considered."

Bruce stayed silent now, tongue tied by the mixture of shock and drugs, realizing that his attempt at convincing Tim wasn’t going to work. Tim could see him working the problem through in his mind, trying to find a weak point, a way around it. If Tim had still held any hope of going home, he would have been warmed by the realization that Bruce  _ did _ actually care for him, unlike how all the others seemed to. 

But there was no way out for him, he had accepted that, and all he could feel was guilt at forcing Bruce to make that realization. He could almost watch the helplessness build behind the closed off expression- the Batman expression. He was always one of the best at seeing through Batman’s mask.

Outside, footsteps passed by the door, another guard rotation having come and gone. Tim was already pushing his luck having stayed so long. He stepped back from Bruce’s bed purposefully, prompting another wave of anguish on the man's features that went straight through Tim’s heart. He wasn’t doing anyone any good by drawing this out longer than was necessary.

“I have to go,” he nearly whispered. It felt wrong somehow to speak louder, when Bruce was obviously still half out of it and the other half overwhelmed with information. Tim could almost see the error messages popping up in his brain. “I’ll- I’ll see you again, before you leave. It won’t be private though. I wasn’t supposed to see you without supervision, actually, so if you could act like this didn’t happen that would be great. Of course Ra’s might know anyways…”

Tim let out a strained laugh, which was met with silence. Bruce was definitely still rebooting, probably about to pass out again. Well, that made it easier to get away without attracting attention. 

So Tim pivoted away to do just that. As his hand once again met the handle of the door, Bruce finally let out a choked sound that could have been the start of a goodbye or an argument for all Tim knew. By the time the noise had registered, Tim was already out the door and turning to close it silently behind him without meeting Bruce’s gaze again.

_ Rip off the bandaid. You made a choice and now you’re living with it. _

_ Bruce is going home. That's the most important thing. _

And with that, Tim slipped back into the shadows like the phantom he had become.


	7. Write it on the Skyline (All We Had is Gone Now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim gets another glimpse into his future, and Bruce starts drafting an action plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, it only took me like two weeks to get this one done. Thanks (as always) to everyone who left comments on the last chapter, it really means a lot to me that so many of you enjoyed reading that conversation as much as I did writing it. I hope you all enjoy this one as well :)
> 
> Chapter 8 will hopefully be out within another two weeks, but its also finals time for me over the next two weeks so we'll see. I have it thoroughly planned out at least.
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter title from Impossible by I Am King

The next morning came all too soon. Tim woke to the blooming desert heat diffusing through the tent’s fabric, the coolness of the night prior long gone. Tim stretched to loosen his muscles from sleep and contemplated his conversation the previous night.

Bruce had been awake, more or less. He had been… worried? That was unexpected. Tim knew that Bruce cared about him, to a degree. More than any of the others in his life ever seemed to. 

His parents had stuck around just long enough to ensure that he would be a good heir, obedient to their wishes. They had never really known him. His father had tried, in the end, but it was too little too late, abruptly cut short with the throw of a boomerang. 

The rest of the Bats… Tim had thought they were his family. He really, really had. But then Bruce had disappeared, and suddenly he was being forced out. The message had been made abundantly clear after the first three murder attempts by the baby assassin that had gone reprimanded, after the countless looks of mistrust and pity. Tim wasn’t welcome there anymore.

The Titans had been his friends, he had shared everything with them, but then two of their own had died, and Tim had lost more on top of that, and suddenly none of the team knew how to talk to him anymore. After all they had been through together, how could it be so easy for them to just let him leave?

Bruce cared. As far as Tim could tell now he was the only one that ever truly did. So Tim had thrown himself into helping him however he could. When he had gone missing, assumed dead, Tim had felt that detective sense pinging in the back of his head, and he had known that something wasn’t adding up. He had thrown himself into saving Bruce, just like he always did. Bruce was the one who cares. His safety was to be placed above all.

And Tim had done it- he had given everything to save him, time and time again, but this was the end of the line. There’s nothing left that Tim could possibly give.

But where did that leave him now?

He was shaken from his musings by the sudden appearance of Adam, summoning him to breakfast with Ra’s.

The mask was slid back into place, and by the time Tim had risen from his place on the floor, Ghost had taken over.

\---

What followed was one of the most awkward meals between Tim and Ra’s since the first week or two of the tradition being inducted. Of course, some of the tension could have originated from the aftereffects of the previous day’s disagreement, but Tim was also almost positive that Ra’s was perfectly aware of the previous night's adventure to go see Bruce. Whether he knew that Bruce had been awake and that they actually spoke was a different question, and one that Tim staunchly refused to answer.

Ra’s ended up being the one to drive the conversation, laying out his plan for the day. Mainly, that meant that the two of them would be overseeing the teardown of the temporary base. The goal was apparently to have the majority of the work done by late afternoon. Bruce’s plane was set to take off just as they were finishing off, so that Ra’s, Tim, and their entourage of servants and guards could return to the Cradle together shortly afterwards.

Tim nodded and agreed when it felt appropriate.

It didn’t escape his notice that the immortal was increasingly often choosing to refer to Tim as Ghost instead of the usual Timothy.

It was as Tim was preparing to leave that Ra’s finally dropped a piece of information that shocked him enough to pull his full mental concentration.

“It’s a good thing that we will be back at the Cradle by this evening,” Ra’s said smoothly, just as Tim moved to stand. “I appreciate the chance to properly look over the preparations for your Accession Ceremony before tomorrow afternoon.”

Tim froze in place as the words processed in his mind, still half crouched and beginning to twist away from the table. After a moment of deliberation, in which he determined that he  _ really _ needed to confirm his suspicions about whatever the hell Ra’s was talking about, Tim carefully straightened up fully to face Ra’s properly, face and body language held carefully blank.

“Accession Ceremony?” he hedged carefully.

“Yes,” Ra’s said breezily, as if this was a totally logical thing. 

“Now that you have successfully completed your Trial to bring the Detective back and prove your skill, we can move forward in officially naming you as the Demon’s Heir. The role is historically always presented through official ceremony before the majority of the League’s forces, so that they are fully aware of their new superior and can claim proper fealty. It also presents various members a chance to show off their skills in the arranged competitions, and the feast is always a meal to be remembered.”

“This ceremony sounds very... traditional. Well planned. You’ve… claimed an heir before, then?”

Ra’s blinked at him, nonplussed. “Yes, of course. You really think that for as long as I’ve been alive I am only considering the long term leadership of my organization now? You will be the fourth to hold the title of the Demon Heir.

The logical, emotionless, self-preserving part of Tim- the part he was coming to know as the Ghost side- pushed him to just accept the given information and move on with his tasks. But the rest of Tim- the curious, reckless, optimistic child that was what remained of Robin-Tim- managed to overpower the Ghost persona for once.

“What happened. To these other Heirs, I mean.”

Ra’s shifted ever so slightly at the question, body language slipping from loose and open into careful stillness. His gaze sharpened, eyes darkening as they took in Tim’s reaction, as always peering into him to read his intentions.

“That is a rather loaded question, Timothy.”

The two men stared at each other tensely. You could have heard a ninja shuffling from across the room with how silent it suddenly was.

“The first,” Ra’s finally offered, jade eyes never leaving Tim’s, “was my first blood son from my first Beloved, back when the League was still new and growing and before the Pit wore down my ability to father a child. The fighting back then was chaotic as we struggled to maintain our place of power. He wouldn’t have been able to quite match you in intellect, I think, but he was a merciless fighter and extremely charismatic. He led many troops into battle. But even he was not immune to harm, and within a year he took an injury severe enough to warrant being healed in the Lazarus Pit.

“I had assumed, back then, that as my blood he would share my relative immunity to the mental effects the healing presents. I was wrong. The Demon Heir may have gone in, but it was a rabid man who emerged. There was no way to save him. I weld the blade that struck him down myself. After that, I promised myself that all future Heirs would only be chosen after their compatibility with the Lazarus was confirmed.”

_ Compatibility is a kind way to put it, _ Tim reflected internally as Ra’s pushed on.

“The second Heir came a few generations later, another of my children. His compatibility was confirmed nearly by accident, but when it was I saw opportunity. He had a brilliant mind for strategy, if not the brute strength or leadership skills of his predecessor. He served for a couple of years by my side. But over time his position drew criticism from the ranks. His access to the Lazarus water made him sloppier in battle, taking greater risks in his battle strategies since he knew that he at least would survive. The people of the League saw this as a vulnerability, a weakness, and a threat to anyone who stood by him. He was deemed not suitable to lead. The next time he suffered a major wound, I made the decision to not grant him access to the Lazarus waters. He died for the final time shortly thereafter, and I made the decision that physical prowess was still a priority despite the Heir’s access to healing, along with a touch of morality for our allies' lives. They have to be a leader that can prove their strength to the League and earn their respect.”

Ra’s fell silent again, sharp green eyes daring Tim to ask the obvious question. 

Tim had already gone this far, he supposed. Might as well.

“And... the third Heir?”

Ra's eyes bored into Tim's, stoking the slight nervous tension that seemed ever-present in his chest. 

“The third betrayed me. Just over a century ago. He grew disillusioned with my way of running things, tired of waiting for me to give up my power, and grew overconfident. He sought to lead a splinter group against me, and was stripped of his title and executed for his trouble.” Ra’s leaned towards Tim slightly- and  _ this _ right here was the point to this whole discussion. Tim could feel his expression shuttering in response to the tension emanating from the older man, the mask taking over once again. 

“I doubt that you would be foolish enough to make the same mistake. Would you, my Ghost?”

“No, Ra’s,” Ghost said obediently, the weight of the promise hanging above his head like a great-sword. “I won’t betray you. I am bound to your service.”

The immortal’s eyes flicked over the boy’s carefully held expression for a moment before nodding in satisfaction that the message had sunk in.

“Good boy. In that case, you are dismissed to your duties.” 

“Yes, sir,” Ghost bowed slightly before again turning to exit the private space.

“And Timothy,” Ra’s called out one last time, just as Tim reached to brush through the small pavilion's exit flap. He twisted back only halfway to face the immortal man, the rest of him still angling towards the exit.

“Yes, Ra’s?”

“I think,” the immortal said all too calmly, “that after the Ceremony it would be much more fitting for you to refer to me as Master when we are in public. After all, you are my apprentice and heir now, are you not?” Tim valiantly managed to hide the shudder that ran down his spine at the pointed statement.

“Alright Ra’s”, Tim intoned carefully, and with that done he pushed his way through the tent flap and off through the bustle to where he predicted he would be needed most.

\---

When Bruce opened his eyes for the second time- into the now vaguely familiar room surrounded by medical monitoring equipment and unfamiliar faces in masks who called him Detective- there was only the smallest lingering sense of confusion. He might still be riding the trail end of whatever they used to knock him out earlier, but he wasn’t the Batman for nothing. Not to mention he had gotten  _ very _ good at reading a situation over the past few months of time hopping.

He was clearly with the League of Assassins, just by the name alone. The advanced equipment they had in the room and the doctors’ black, masked outfitting was another dead giveaway. Bruce was tense for a while, expecting to have to defend himself when they tried to go too far, but the doctors (scientists?) only performed a repeating series of noninvasive testing.

They didn’t release him from the restraints, sure, but overall this had to be his most relaxed stay with the League since he became Batman. Maybe even before then. Ra’s wasn’t known for his hospitality.

So there Bruce was, locked down in a small room with a promise to be “on his way shortly, just a couple more tests sir”, and he found himself suddenly with the chance to think things through for the first time in months. And sure, at least some of that time had to be spent processing everything he had been through since the battle with Darkseid, but Bruce was accustomed to dealing with his own traumas at this point.

He much preferred to focus on his latest revelations around Tim. Tim, little Timmy Drake, the one that had been his youngest son (even if it wasn’t official) for years before Damian was revealed to him. Tim, who was always too caring, too self sacrificing. It was all too easy for Bruce to accidentally end up taking advantage of the boy’s willingness to help those who showed him any sort of affection. The neglect at his parents hand as a child had made its mark long before Tim decided to bulldoze his way into the family. 

Bruce had thought that they had made significant progress in proving to Tim that he didn’t have to be useful and low-maintenance just to be loved. But then there was just one tragedy after another, until Bruce himself was dragged away. Tim had found him, just like Bruce had trusted that he would. But Ra’s and the League… that was  _ extremely _ unexpected.

The previous night's conversation was a bit fuzzy, but still clear enough for Bruce to have retained the details. While Bruce had no doubt that Tim completely believed what he said, the man couldn’t help feeling that he was missing pieces. The rest of the family’s reactions seemed skewed, overemphasized in some ways and blunted in others. Bruce was in no place to talk about healthy reactions to grief, but something vital here was clearly lost in communication between his eldest and second youngest, and that had to be dealt with quickly.

The fact that Tim had been healed in a Lazarus Pit (had  _ died _ ) clearly wasn’t helping his mental state in any way.

Because that was apparently a thing now, on top of everything else.

Oh god, his poor kids.

Bruce couldn’t get back to Gotham and start damage control fast enough.

After what felt like entirely too long, Bruce was  _ finally  _ released from the restraints, directed to eat a proper meal, and marched out of the room by a handful of ninja out to what was clearly a temporary landing strip (as confirmed by the small plane that sat at one end). Three figures stood by the stairs, one of which broke away from the group in favor of slipping into the plane as he approached. The other two were easily identifiable, even if one was in an unfamiliar costume.

Ra’s and Tim.

As Bruce drew into speaking range, Ra’s threw his hands up dramatically in over exuberant welcome. Always one to play up the drama. 

Tim, for his part, seemed to be fully locked up behind his scarily blank persona, but Bruce couldn’t get a good look at his face at the angle and distance between them to be certain.

“Detective, how lovely to see you,” Ra’s said pleasantly, reaching back easily to latch around Tim’s shoulders and tug the boy forward. Tim moved with the manipulation easily, as if he had half expected it, but Bruce's skin crawled at the easy contact. Tim’s lack of resistance just served to compound Bruce’s stress that Ra’s really did seem to have found some sort of hold on his son’s loyalties, taking advantage of the boy's depressingly intense need to be acknowledged as the brilliant kid he was.

So that's how they were going to play this, then.

“Ra’s,” Bruce acknowledged cautiously before pointedly turning towards the shortest of the group. “Tim.”

Tim only offered a silent nod in return, head tilted down in an effort to avoid eye contact. Bruce could make out the green tinge to the familiar blue despite the angle and how Tim’s long hair fell to obscure his face. So familiar and yet so different.

Ra’s noticed Tim’s dulled response, frowning down at the boy and squeezing his shoulder a hair tighter. Bruce’s blood boiled accordingly.

“Go on, Timothy. Say hello to your father. I do believe you’ve put enough work into pulling him back into the right time to at least warrant a hello, don’t you agree?”

Half a heartbeat of hesitation, and then Tim was straightening, pulling his shoulders back and straightening his chin so that the two Waynes could look at each other face to face. The vibrant green edging into Tim’s eyes was cutting but also vaguely suiting beside the grays and greens of his clothing. Bruce’s heart skipped at the sight of how distant he seemed.

“Hello Bruce,” he said flatly, emotionless. The familiarity he had allowed to leak in last night was long gone. Ra’s smiled smugly.

“Yes, perfect. He’s always so eager to serve, my little Ghost. I suppose I should thank you some for training him so well. Timothy will be the perfect heir to my eternal kingdom, once we’ve worked through the last of the moral hangups you hero types always seem to insist on.”

Bruce’s teeth ground together. Tim’s eyes caught his once again for a fleeting moment, this time with the smallest spark of personality, and in them Bruce could read the apology.

There was no getting out of this situation right now. Not with Tim and without injury. Bruce might be up and moving now, but he was far from healed, and Ra’s and a team of ninja were all too close, countless more a single summons away. Tim had been correct in his assessment, a hasty escape attempt wasn't the answer here.

There was no way around it. Bruce would leave, he would trust in Tim’s strength. But when he returned- and he swore to himself then and there that he would- there would be no stopping what would befall the Demon’s Head for daring to target his family time and time again.

“Tim is a brilliant kid,” Bruce said simply. “I think it was me who ended up the best off when he chose to come to me all those years ago. The family wouldn’t be the same without him.”

_ I’ll be back _ his heart swore, straining in his chest to make sure the boy could understand it.  _ Please don’t doubt that. I know it's hard for you to understand, but I do love you. We all do. Just hang in there a bit longer. _

If Ra’s was suspicious of Bruce’s easy allowance, he didn’t comment. Tim was likewise a blank slate of emotions once again. The trio stood in silence for a few moments, until the man who Bruce had spotted earlier suddenly appeared once again in the small plane’s doorway, standing stiffly at attention.

“Ah,” Ra’s observed unnecessarily, “Your chariot back to Gotham awaits, Detective. If you leave now you might even manage to be reunited with your family before dark. I’m sure they’ll all be ecstatic to see you alive and well.”

“Yes.” Bruce resisted the scowl he could feel trying to make itself known. “I do wish to return as soon as possible. Thank you, for both your hospitality and the resources you no doubt offered to aid in my recovery.” The words were said to the immortal, but Bruce’s gaze still lingered on Tim's. “I will take my leave now.”

_ Rip off the bandaid _ , Bruce spun easily on the spot and marched forward smoothly to concur the stairs and board the plane with nothing but the clothes on his back. The suit he had come in was no doubt ruined past repair, stored for later analysis. Everything could be arranged from Gotham much more easily.

Just inside the door of the plane, Bruce stopped and turned back around. He allowed himself that one last scan over Tim, savoring the similarities and noting the differences compared to the boy that was haunting his memories as the door was closed and the stairs pulled away. 

The last image that lingered in Bruce’s mind for hours after were of those haunted eyes, even more green-tinted than they had been earlier.

The plane was lifting off only minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will continue the Bruce POV and give us our first look at Gotham since Tim left. I wonder how everyone will take the news...? Find out next time!


	8. I'm Going to Follow my Heart Back to You (If It's the Last Thing I Do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce returns to Gotham, reunions abound, and information is shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this was interesting to write. Lots of emotions here, folks, so strap in. Hopefully my characterization here for some of the characters isn't too off, I tend to jump between different cannon's personalities based off of the story I want to tell. Also... wow, this one is really long. I make no promises that this trend continues.
> 
> As always, thank you for all of the comments and kudos! You are all amazing and make it way easier for me to find the motivation to sit down and write. Stay safe ya'll <3
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter title from Back to You by Wild

Bruce used his time stuck on the plane to plan.

Sure, there was still an edge of weakness in his muscles, tiredness pulling at his eyelids, exhaustion lying deep in his bones. But Bruce wasn’t the Batman for nothing. Half of his strength lied in defiance of his body’s limits. He had rested enough back with the League.

The other half of his strength, of course, lied in information gathering and research. And the League servants manning the plane had left him a factory-reset tablet with internet connection. Why sleep when he could spend his time figuring out what had happened in his absence?

He would start from the beginning. Hacking into the Batcomputer or Watchtower’s systems right now would be foolish. He didn’t want to broadcast his return too quickly, not with how sensitive the Tim situation appeared to be. Not to mention that the system would have likely been upgraded several times since he had… left. 

News articles would have to be enough for now.

A quick scan of the aftermath of Darkseid was enough to confirm that the JLA had handled the situation well enough on their own. Recovery efforts for the damaged infrastructure were already nearing completion less than a year later. Press conferences about what had happened had been held. While it was rather obvious to Bruce that a lot of the members, especially the more senior heroes, were shaken in the aftermath of his disappearance, the rest of the world didn’t seem to pick up on it. 

Batman’s absence from the roster in the aftermath slid under the radar, his natural aversion to talking to the press in costume working in their favor. By the time questions had started to arise, a new Batman had appeared once again and put them to rest.

Knowing that his time to prepare for the coming conversations was limited, Bruce decided to focus his area of search once again, centering his sites on Gotham. And he settled in for a deep dive of the past eleven months, skimming headlines, only clicking on the articles themselves as needed to clarify. It was slow going, but rewarding as the picture fit itself together.

The first two months seemed to match up exactly with what Tim had described. Crime rates climbed as people clued in that something was amiss with the city’s vigilante population. A rogue Batman with guns and a mask appeared but quickly gave way to a vaguely-familiar-but-still-not-correct Batman. The new, more violent Robin caused a stir, but he seemed to mellow over time. The Red Hood had also started making a gradual reappearance, both in Crime Alley and outside of it, occasionally even working with the Bats. He had, at some point, switched to rubber bullets.

The more public side of the family had also made the news frequently, mainly due to ‘Bruce’s’ erratic decision making. A couple months in, the board had suddenly declared that Bruce needed a break, and Lucius had taken over most of the CEO duties. Bruce disappeared from mention after that, supposedly on vacation. Dick started making the occasional appearance in the media, sometimes accompanied by Damian. Alfred and the rest had little to no media presence, but that likely meant that they were perfectly fine.

Tim, it was claimed, had fallen ill and then accompanied Bruce on his worldwide voyage. There was no mention of him besides speculation after that.

By the time the plane touched down, Bruce felt as prepared as he could have been to reunite with the rest of the family and throw himself back into the organized chaos that was their lives.

But his many contingencies for the reunion could only stretch so far.

\---

It was well into nighttime by the time Bruce arrived at the Manor’s doorstep, and yet the lights behind the windows of the house were all off.

Huh.

Bruce debated with himself over whether or not to attempt to get past the security on the door for a second, but decided against it. No one seemed to be home.

Mildly concerned and majorly confused now, Bruce rounded the house and trekked the short distance through the woods to get to one of the Cave’s entrances, instead breaking in there. The codes  _ had  _ been changed, but the system itself seemed the same, and after a bit of fiddling he was admitted. An alert could have been triggered, but Bruce was rather past caring at that point.

Because the Cave was empty.

Well, empty might be the wrong word, technically. But it was certainly abandoned. Various smaller machines and equipment had been removed from their former places. The Computer, trophy room, and what appeared to be most of the accumulated vehicles were covered in plastic sheeting. This didn’t appear to have been some sort of attack, Bruce assured his straining heart and lungs, but the family had clearly and intentionally relocated their base of operations to a new location.

Which... kind of left Bruce at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. He stood in the center of the cave, staring at the remains of his years of work as he came up with and abandoned alternatives.

Run around on rooftops until he caught someone's attention? Too risky, it would be easy for him to catch the wrong eyes, and he wasn’t currently in possession of a suit anyways.

Try to contact someone? He didn’t currently have a phone, for starters, and his tablet had been confiscated at the end of the flight. Another League assassin had given him a ride from the airport to the Manor’s gates.

He didn’t have any money either, now that he thought about it, not that calling a cab or getting a hotel room would be an option if he wanted to maintain his and Tim’s current cover as being on vacation across the world.

Bruce could practically hear Ra’s laughing at him. There's no way he hadn’t known about this, even if the media had somehow missed it. Which… didn’t really surprise him all that much, to be honest. They always seemed to focus on the wrong details.

Just as Bruce had resigned himself to spending the night in the abandoned Cave and reassessing in the morning, his ears registered a distant clang and the familiar sound off a purring engine.

The Batmobile.

The midnight black car skidded into view, the driver coming to a standstill and cutting the engine in the usual designated place despite the open room. After a few moments of silence where Bruce blinked at the car’s familiar silhouette and mentally applauded the turn in luck, the driver's side door hissed open and spit out a tall, dark figure in a familiar pointed cowl.

Batman. Dick.

Bruce watched silently as his eldest son moved smoothly across the cave floor, attention on the file room where the hard copies of case reports from the early days were stored. A few steps in, however, Di- Batman- froze, head snapping up to stare at Bruce.

After a few tense moments, Bruce managed to clear his throat.

“Hi, chum. What’s the weather been like in Gotham?

Dick straightened ever so slightly, surprised at the words, but he responded anyways. “Cloudy one day, raining the next, with an endless side of petty crime and insane masterminds to keep things interesting.”

“But the thriving Bat and Bird population can deal with that, I’m sure,” Bruce finished the code, fondly flashing back to the night a young Dick had come up with the identification phrases when bored on a stakeout. It had been years since they had used it, giving way to new phrases and codes as the family grew, but Bruce was feeling nostalgic, and using his and Dick’s personal identifier felt right in the moment.

Dick seemed to agree, as when Bruce had finished the last line he had shakily reached up to pull back the cowl, revealing his wide blue eyes.

“Bruce?” he asked hesitantly, taking a cautious step forward. Bruce lifted his arms. 

“Dick,” he smiled welcomely, throat tight with emotion. “Chum, it’s really me. I promise.”

In a blink, Bruce’s arms were filled with an over-emotional, Kevlar-clad vigilante.

“Bruce,” Dick muttered into the older man’s chest. “You- you’re alive.  _ Bruce _ .”

“Yeah, chum. I’m alive,” Bruce reassured, feeling mildly awkward even as he hugged the boy tightly to his chest. He would never be the kind of person who is comfortable with strong emotions, but he could acknowledge when his children needed comfort. Most of the time. Okay, not as often as he should. Bruce could work on that, though.

Once he dealt with the rest of the mess that his impromptu trip through time had wrought.

Dick pulled himself out of his breakdown quickly, pulling away with a large sniffle and a careful wipe to his eyes, cautious of the gauntlet. One hand, however, refused to break the physical contact and slid down to grip Bruce’s tightly.

“I can’t believe it,” he chattered as he gently tugged Bruce towards the car, shooting Bruce his classic blinding grin. “We all thought you were dead until a couple months ago. There was this whole…  _ thing _ with Black Lantern rings… probably best that I explain that later. But your-  _ the _ body came out of your grave, and it was obvious then that something was wrong. But at that point it had been so long, and all the trails had gone cold. It just kind of dropped when the next wave of breakouts happened, I kept meaning to go back to it… but now you found your way back by yourself! Everyone will be so-”

A beep and a flash of light interrupted, and Dick’s head snapped down to look at the small screen embedded in his bracer, blinking.

“Ah, speaking of the others. They’re all waiting back at base for the monthly meeting, actually. I was just supposed to run over here to pick up some old files first. One second!”

And with that, Dick took off across the cave and disappeared into the archive room.

Bruce took the moment alone to recenter himself, to calm the panic that had bled into him when he found the cave empty and the shock that had come with Dick’s sudden appearance in a batsuit. The questions about what happened- about Tim- sat heavily on the tip of his tongue, but Bruce knew that he had to hold back until he had everyone there. He needed to see their reactions firsthand. Not to mention that it seemed… cruel, to burst his eldest’s happiness so quickly. Whatever had happened between Dick and Tim, this interaction just enforced further in Bruce’s mind that none of the damage done was intentional. He had to proceed carefully.

Within minutes Dick reappeared with a decent stack of files in his hand, quickly plopping them into the backseat of the Batmobile and climbing into the driver's seat. Bruce blinked at the unfamiliar role reversal, but fit himself through the passenger side door regardless. One last grin from Dick- still with the cowl down- and they were off, heading out of Bristol and into the city center.

Dick continued the idle chatter the whole way through, retelling highlights of the cases that had sprung up over the months Bruce was gone. Bruce listened with half of his focus, the rest of him contemplating the familiar sight of Gotham City flashing by. Many of the cases had been mentioned in his brief time researching. Bruce knew that he would be spending hours reading through the files later. 

It was with Wayne Tower in sight that Dick started detailing their most recent conundrum, and Bruce really started to pay attention.

“The current mystery we’ve all been focusing on has to deal with the League of Assassins,” he started, and Bruce’s gaze snapped to his son's face. “A few days ago, almost every single assassin we had tagged as stationed in Gotham and the surrounding area started withdrawing out of nowhere. The few contacts we were able to catch just said it was some sort of promotion ceremony, and one said something about a potential heir.”

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat, the reaction going unnoticed by the young man behind the wheel. Bruce’s mind flashed over distant memories of when he had trained with the League under Ra’s’ sharp eyes, the tales Ra’s had given about the previous men who had caught his attention and had been named as the Demon’s Heir. 

“At first,” Dick continued, oblivious to Bruce’s inner revelations, “we were worried that it meant that they were making another grab for Dami. We actually pulled him off of patrol for a bit, which wasn’t fun for anyone. But by yesterday it was pretty clear that it had nothing to do with him. The League has practically given up their hold in the city entirely! Even Damian is confused why they would do that, it makes no sense strategically.”

Back when Bruce was with the league, the underlying tone had been that he would be named Heir one day. That, of course, had been rescinded once Bruce had left to become Batman. Damian had been born to fill the role in his stead, but after the last dispute when they pulled the boy from the League’s clutches it had become clear that Damian had been… disowned, for a lack of a better word. They were right that Damian was no longer of interest to the League.

Which left… Tim. Tim, who had apparently gotten himself stuck even deeper than he had let on. Bruce hadn’t expected a move so drastic so soon. God _ damnit _ , this was going to make the rescue attempt more complicated.

“I think... I can explain,” Bruce offered carefully. “Though it will be best that I wait to explain once we reach the rest of the group.”

“You know-” Dick’s head snapped towards Bruce suddenly, before the fact that he was driving pulled his gaze back to the road. “Alright. Okay. Well, good thing we’re here, then.”

Bruce looked up, realizing that they were now turning into a wide alley two blocks down from Wayne Tower, the brick wall at the end sliding down to reveal a faintly-lit ramp that Dick maneuvered down easily.  _ Ah, that makes sense. They’re using- _

“Welcome to the Bat-Bunker, Bruce.”

The steep ramp had led down into a large, well lit basement that Bruce knew had been constructed under Wayne Tower long ago as a secondary, rarely used base in the center of Gotham. The Bunker. Multiple exits to allow for travel across Gotham, throwing off any watching as to the location. A couple of the basic machines and a stash of equipment all its own, now supplemented with the things moved from the Cave. Its own supercomputer connected to the Bat database. A secret elevator up to the penthouse thousands of feet above them.

If the family had decided to move out of the Manor for whatever reason (and Bruce suspected that it had a lot to do with the sudden disappearance of a father and brother figure), this was the logical new headquarters for the local vigilante population.

All the same, once things were settled Bruce knew that he’d be pushing for a return to the Manor and the Cave. It was home.

But for now, he had his hands full, and the possible conversations about a return to their roots all got pushed to the back of Bruce’s mind when his gaze settled on the four people clustered around the monitors.

This… was actually happening.

Dick got out of the car quickly, rounding around the front to make his way towards them. The smallest of the group quickly broke away to move closer, stopping around ten feet from where he started.  _ Damian _ . Bruce moved to get out of the car.

“Grayson! What took you so long? We were all-” the small boy cut off suddenly as Bruce stood. “... Father?”

The conversation by the monitors cut off with a snap, the three remaining people twisting around to find the cause of the youngest’s strained voice. They all froze as well. Stephanie. Alfred.  _ Jason _ . And Barbra, just visible on the monitor behind them. They were all here.

It seemed for a moment that they would remain in that tense silence for eternity, but it was Babs who finally managed to voice the question.

“Bruce… is it really… is it really him?”

Dick took the opening as it was offered. “Yes. It’s really him, I promise. We can run a couple more tests to be sure but… it’s him. Bruce is back.”

Bruce cleared his throat, thick with emotion. “I wasn’t dead. I got thrown into the timestream, and I just got out. I’m sorry it took so long.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, everyone seeming to suck in a chestful of air at once.

And then the Bunker erupted with sound.

Barbra’s faintly electronic “Oh my god, Bruce,” came as her figure on the screen slumped down slightly as if a huge weight had just been removed from her shoulders.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred gasped out, one hand reaching back to grip the countertop as the other clutched at the fabric over his heart. 

Jason made an aborted move towards Bruce, but stopped himself in favor of laying a careful hand on the butler’s slightly shaking shoulders, bare face a mix of sorrow and disbelief and hope.

“Welcome back, old man,” he said gruffly.

“Of course he wouldn’t be dead,” Stephanie grinned, elbowing Jason lightly and earning a halfhearted glare from the taller boy. “He’s Batman. Or, the original Batman I suppose.”

Damian stared up at him for a moment with wide eyes before he seemed to reign in his surprise and reapply his indifferent mask. The fact that he had allowed the emotion to leak through at all went a lot to show how much he had grown over the months Bruce was gone.

“Hello again, Father,” he said simply.

And so it began.

There were hugs. There were tears. Even a family that always seemed to compartmentalize their emotions into non-existence like theirs couldn’t maintain their composure when one of their own returned from the dead. At Alfred’s gentle suggestion, Bruce easily submitted to DNA and general health examinations. The family hovered around Bruce’s cot and the machines running the tests, bouncing back and forth anxiously. 

All the identity testing came back positive for one Bruce Thomas Wayne, negative for any indicators of cloning or magic. His health exam revealed the expected malnutrition and array of healing wounds. Alfred had pursed his lips at this, but his shoulders straightened nonetheless. This, after all, was something that he could fix. The emotions flooding the Bunker faded from shock into contentment.

As things settled out, Bruce felt the Detective rising in his chest, urging him towards answers, towards a solution to help the one who should have been a part of this reunion. Conversation was dying down by the time he wedged himself further upright, clearing his throat to ensure that he had everyone's full attention.

“Before I give a proper explanation,” he started carefully, “where’s Cass? And Tim? They need to be here for this as well.”

Dead silence. A couple furtive glances between different people, ranging from questioning to guilty. It was Alfred who finally stepped forward, his carefully blank composure fully in place, worried about upsetting his oldest charge.

“Mistress Cassandra decided to move her work permanently to Hong Kong not long after you… left. We can call her and give her the news in a couple of hours. I am reluctant to wake her if it’s not an emergency. Master Timothy... is also currently out of Gotham.”

“Cass makes sense, I suppose,” Bruce contemplated, still playing it off to view their reactions. “She had already been jumping in and out of Gotham as it was. Tim, though... I thought he would be the one leading the investigation to get me back. He was always a detective first and foremost.”

Bruce got a rather cruel sense of satisfaction watching the realization and pain spiking through Dick and Stephanie’s faces, no matter how bad he felt about it. Alfred stayed perfectly blank in expression, though his fist tightened ever so slightly. Damian looked conflicted, Jason vaguely confused. Out of everyone, he was the most likely to not know the details of what went down. The fact that he was here now was surprising enough.

Bruce decided to put them out of their misery then.

“Unless, I suppose, none of you believed him. Called him crazy. Pulled him from his role on the team.” Bruce’s eyes slid over to hold Dick’s gaze, and he could see the conflict there. He wasn’t in denial, and regretted how it went down. Good, Bruce could work with that.

“You  _ what _ ,” Jason snapped suddenly, jolting straighter in the corner of Bruce’s vision, and Bruce held up a hand in a silent request to let him handle this for now. To his pleasant surprise, his second son actually listened.  _ He’s come so far in the time I was gone. More proof that not everything fell apart here. _

“Dick?” Bruce prompted, not breaking eye contact.

“Tim… Tim was so  _ upset _ , when you di- left. When you left. It had been such a hard year for him, you know? He kept saying that something felt off about it, but we had a body. We ran all the normal confirmations. I couldn’t… I couldn’t entertain that kind of hope, not when so much had to be done to fill your absence at the time. I  _ had _ to push forward. Especially after I officially picked up the cowl.” Dick glanced quickly towards Jason before recentering, drawing in a deep breath.

“You were dead. I had to take over. Damian needed a solid place in the family, a way for me to guide him and teach him and give him an outlet for his energy. I don’t regret making him Robin, but I do regret how it happened. I… underestimated how much Tim was relying on the position at that point. I didn’t realize how much he had been suppressing. He’s  _ Tim _ , he’s always okay.”

Stephanie let out a vaguely hurt noise, like she had been hit. The rest were all painfully silent as tears built up in the corner of Dick’s eyes.

“I miscalculated. I should have talked to him first, one on one, laid out my thought process and made sure he understood before I told Damian. Instead he came down that night to find Damian trying on the armor. It was bad. Everyone said things they shouldn’t have. He retreated upstairs, Alfred and I decided to give him some space. Damian and I went on patrol. The next morning, his room was empty. I caught him on the way out of Gotham, wearing the Red Robin uniform of all things. When I tried to talk him out of it, everything just exploded even worse than it did in the cave. We fought, like actually fought each other. I think… I  _ might  _ have called him crazy. I can’t-”

Dick faltered, eyes blinking furiously against the tears. He swallowed. Unsure what to say next. The rest of the gathered Bats were shades of remorse and regret, with Jason leaning towards incredulous. He definitely hadn’t heard the details before, then.

“Okay, Dick,” Bruce said carefully, shifting his weight a bit as one of his legs started to go numb from his position on the cot. “Just one last thing, and I can tell you what I know. Did you try to contact him, after he left?”

“I- not… not for a while,” Dick managed. “I figured after all of that he’d want some space. He wouldn’t want to hear from me. He had taken out all his trackers, but we could follow news reports around Europe enough to know that he was still alright, so we weren’t too worried. When the Black Lantern chaos reached here in Gotham I tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. I tried a few days later but the number had been disconnected. The reports stopped popping up around then as well. I… I don’t know…” 

He broke eye contact then, hunching on on himself. Bruce’s heart stung.

“It’s alright, Chum. Thank you for telling me what happened.” His eyes flickered across the group. “Does anyone else want to add anything?”

“Dick knows just as much as I do,” Barbara offered quickly, the voice filtering through the speakers much more subdued than usual. “I was helping Dick keep an eye on Tim’s activity, but a couple months back he vanished out of nowhere. I figured if he had… been badly injured or something it would have made news, so we weren’t too concerned. There was an Arkham breakout around that time.”

“I have nothing to add as well,” Alfred echoed. Bruce offered him a nod, sure that the old butler was just as troubled by the situation as Bruce would have been in his place.

“Nothing to add,” Stephanie mumbled quietly. “I should have reached out to him more. Why didn’t I?”

“I wasn’t around for mosta this,” Jason shrugged. “When Dick started pullin me in to help him a few months after it went down, I just assumed that Replacement had ran off on his own. The vast majority of this is news ta me.” He eyed Dick with barely disguised irritation, but relaxed a bit when Dick let out another miserable sniff and made no move to defend himself.

Bruce turned to Damian.

“I… have to admit that Drake’s departure was at least partially my fault,” the boy admitted grudgingly. “I was still adjusting, and was rather violent towards him. His position as your son and Grayson’s little brother scared me, and I lashed out. I can see the error in that now. But there hasn’t been any way for me to apologize since, even if I could figure out a way to do so that Drake would have a chance of accepting.”

Emotion pulled at Bruce’s chest again. These  _ kids. _ This  _ family. _ How had they all grown up so much in the year he had been away?

“Alright,” he accepted. “Thank you, everyone. I think I have a bit clearer of an understanding now. Here’s what I have for you.”

Everyone straightened as Bruce slipped closer into his Batman mask, ready to take in the details they were given.

“As I believe I’ve mentioned before now, when I disappeared it was due to Darkseid charging me with temporal energy. I believe they were referred to as Omega Particles. I was thrown backwards in time, and worked my way forward until I landed yesterday in what I believe was a desert somewhere in the Middle East. I had been jumping forward faster and faster as time went on, I should have just slipped right through and kept going into the future until the energy wore out or I couldn’t go any further, I’m not exactly sure. But Tim was there, with a plan to hold me in place,” the room takes a collective breath, “with the League of Assassins.”

The quiet shatters.

“He was  _ what _ ,” Damian snaps, his small body suddenly wound up in fear or fury, Bruce couldn’t tell. Dick laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, looking like someone had just taken a suckerpunch to the stomach. Stephanie was an edge confused, having had the least experience with the League at this point, but clearly knew the significance. Jason looked almost sick. Alfred took a step forward to grip Bruce’s forearm, as if to steady himself, while over the speakers Barbara let out a surprised “ _ Oh, _ ” as pieces started to fall into place.

It was just like her to make the connections first.

“From what I was able to gather from him,” Bruce cut across, “he was hitting a roadblock with his search to track me down. He had some evidence, but not enough to prove anything yet. Ra’s al Ghul reached out to him, gave him a small group of assassins to help him out with an offer of more, if he wanted. After that they ran into more trouble. I believe he called that group the Council of Spiders?” 

Damian choked at the name, drawing everyone's eyes. 

“The Council of Spiders,” he whispered almost fearfully. “Assassins that had started targeting League operatives shortly before I left them. No one survived an encounter, information was limited.” His green eyes looked up at Bruce anxiously. “Drake…” 

Bruce nodded at the unasked clarification.

“Tim’s team encountered one of their members. Of the three allies, two were killed. Tim and the third were badly injured. They managed to make it back to find help. But Tim…” Bruce glanced cautiously at Jason, who had passed through ‘mildly sick’ and well into ‘worryingly pale’, his eyes clearly a brighter shade of green than they had been minutes prior. But he still nodded at Bruce to continue, as if he could sense what was coming and still wanted him to say it.

“From what Tim said, the damage was too severe to heal on his own. Ra’s brought him in quickly and put his best doctors to work, but when Tim’s heart stopped on the table, they…” he swallowed thickly. “They resorted to using the Lazarus Pit.”

Jason’s knees gave out, sending him thudding to the floor on all fours, head bowed.

“Master Jason!” Alfred exclaimed sharply, moving away from Bruce to go rest a hand on the boy’s shaking shoulders. Everyone else was frozen as if made of ice, watching Jason’s breakdown with wide, knowing eyes.

“No. I was supposed ta be the last one,” Jason said brokenly into the silence. His head snapped up suddenly, burning green gaze locked on Bruce's as he snapped into fury. “I was supposed to be the only one, Bruce!”

“I know, Jaylad,” Bruce tried to appease, irritated now that he had been sworn to stay in the bed for the next day or two. “I know. It's… It’s terrible. It shouldn’t have happened, not to Tim or you or anyone, but it did. There’s no going back, and we’re just going to have to do what we can to fix it, right? You can help him deal with it.” 

The words seemed to mollify Jason a bit, the green dimming slightly, but he still made no move to speak or rise from the floor, stuck in his head. Alfred rubbed his back carefully, glancing at Bruce to reassure without words that this was something he had seen from Jason before and it could be dealt with. 

Barbara was still silent, though Bruce could imagine her already pulling up relevant files to pour through in the coming days, something he would no doubt be joining in for. Dick and Damian were both still frozen in horror at the news, Dick’s hand still on the shorter boy’s shoulder. 

Stephanie, however- she seemed to grow more determined by the second now that the situation was being laid out in front of her. For the first time, Bruce consciously noticed the unfamiliar uniform she was wearing, black and gold and purple. A version of the Batgirl suit, made to be her own. He had missed so much of these kids’ growth.

“What else do you know,” she pushed, whole body tense, hands clenched at her side. Bruce respected her strength.

“Tim was fairly sparse on the details of what happened after that. He clearly came out of the Pit mostly stable, though his emotions seemed to swing a bit too easily between intense and nonexistent. I also think it’s altered his perception of the circumstances around his departure a bit,” Dick nodded at that, “but not as badly as Jason’s memories seemed to be. It's fixable.

“What was more worrying to me was how Ra’s was managing to twist that to his advantage. Tim’s always been sensitive to abandonment and praise. The Pit’s influence made him more vulnerable. Ra’s managed to bind him to a deal, one that he is apparently convinced he has to see through. I don’t know the exact details, but something else happened with the Council of Spiders in the following weeks. And I got the impression that Tim took an offer of resource’s to track me down in exchange for his cooperation afterwards.” 

Most of the group seemed to make the connection then, but it was Damian who voiced it.

“The Ascension Ceremony. We had thought it might be a bid to get to me. But it's for Drake. Grandfather is making him his official Heir.” The boy seemed conflicted about this realization. When Bruce nodded to confirm that he agreed with the theory, Damian huffed out a breath of frustration. “That makes things difficult. He’ll have a lot of eyes on him once he officially takes the position.”

“So what's the plan, B?” Jason cut in, everyone’s eyes cutting over in surprise to see that at some point when they weren’t paying attention he had regained his footing. “How are we busting Re- _ Tim _ outta there?”

Bruce tilted his head contemplatively, everyone once again snapping out of their individual dark thoughts at the hint that Bruce, that  _ Batman _ , was taking charge of the situation. The trust they all had in him strengthened his own resolve in response.

“Like Damian said, it’s going to be difficult. We’re going to have to get a better grasp of the numbers Ra’s keeps on hand normally, and confirm which base he’s using as his main headquarters these days. As much as it pains me, we’re definitely not getting in before the Ceremony. It’s too soon, and there are too many enemies gathering there. If we could track him down when he’s outside of a base that would probably be easiest, but it might take a few months for Ra’s to start loosening his leash that much. We need more information.”

“I’ll start pulling up data on my end,” Barbara’s voice called determinedly, the sound of her furious typing picking up on the microphone. Damian spun quickly to move towards the computer, pulling Dick with him. Bruce turned towards Stephanie, still tense and waiting for direction.

“Go ahead and call Cassandra now,” Bruce offered. “She’ll want to be in the loop as soon as possible, even if she doesn’t come back to Gotham. It might actually be beneficial to have her stay there, closer to where we believe Tim is.” Stephanie nodded and drifted away into the corner with her phone, poking the screen furiously. Which left Bruce with Jason and Alfred, the younger of the two still clearly upset by the night's whirlwind of emotions.

Bruce stretched out a hand invitingly, and to his delight Jason actually shifted forward to take it, both of them relaxing minutely as Bruce centered himself alongside the child that he had once lost. Alfred watched over the pair silently, a hopeful glint breaking through his careful facade.

“We’ll get him back,” Bruce reassured gently.

“We’ll get him back,” Jason echoed, eyes seeming to clear from the green a bit more as he finally let himself relax. He shifted slightly, squeezing Bruce’s hand in thanks before releasing. Bruce let him go, carefully watching the boy’s expression fall into focused determination, and he nodded with satisfaction.

“Alright,” he called out, raising his voice ever so slightly so everyone could hear it. “Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: we catch up with Tim again. I have some plans for chapter 9... stay tuned!


	9. Lacking All Emotion (Staring Down the Barrel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ceremony, and a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Its done! Geez did this one get way longer than I thought. I don't know how this keeps happening. It is also very loosely edited this time because... wow, many words.
> 
> There's also a couple of elements in this chapter that could be triggering. They're kind of spoilery so I'll stick the details in the end notes. Basically it boils down to Tim's mental state is a mess, Tim gets a "traditional" (read: I pulled some ceremony stuff from midair) bath, and Ra's is a creepy and controlling wannabe dad. 
> 
> I also want to emphasize again that the entire Ascension Ceremony plotline is just me throwing together things that popped into my mind and I thought would be cool. Originally I was going to timeskip over this part but ideas happened and here we are. This is NOT based on any sort of actual cultural ceremony. Just think of it as the League's weird cultural stuff developed due to relative isolation from outside influence and Ra's weird eccentricities. 
> 
> Chapter 10 might take a bit to get out, but this is mostly due to the fact that I'm about to start finalizing the outline for the rest of this fic and the sequel! Yup, this is officially going to be a series. Since the second "arc" (as I call it in my head) is going to be touching on a lot of different themes and such I felt like it should exist separately from "arc one". By next time I should have an estimated chapter count for this one. I can say now though that we should be well past the halfway point.
> 
> Finally, I want to give a shoutout to Bumpkin for letting me ramble through potential plot ideas on discord for a couple hours. She helped me settle on a plotline and gave me some brilliant ideas on how to tie all of the floating ideas together. Thanks for the help Bumpkin!
> 
> Anyways, I'll stop rambling now. As always thank you all so much for the kudos and comments, and I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from Mortals by Warriyo and Laura Brehm (dream sequence inspired by Interlude IV (Showtime) by Zach Callison!)

_ Tim fades into awareness slowly and all at once. He opens his eyes, mildly confused to find himself surrounded in an expanse of white, extending around him with no horizon in sight. He seems to be suspended in place, the soles of his feet feeling no pressure from the ground that should be below but wasn’t. He blinks slowly, brain coming up with and throwing out possible explanations. Some sort of new mind manipulation tactic by Ra’s? A trap by a new villain perhaps? _

_ He looks down at himself, taking a moment to analyze the clothes he has been placed in. Worn grey sweatpants and a faded blue Gotham U sweatshirt, comfort clothing. Something similar to what he could remember wearing often on his days off before… well, before. It doesn’t seem like something an enemy or Ra’s would have placed him in.  _

_ Everyone these days seems to much prefer that he be in some sort of uniform or other clothing that shows power. He didn’t even have any of the few clothing items that he had taken from Gotham anymore. They had all disappeared from his possession, along with everything else he had held on to, sometime between the Widower and the Pit. They wanted Ghost, not Tim Drake. _

_ So it probably wasn’t any weird scheme by the League or their enemies. Which would leave… _

_ He pinches himself, just to confirm. Tries to count his fingers. Suspicion confirmed, this is some sort of dream. Most likely a normal one, just him and his own brain. It’s been a while, Tim reflects, since he has had a dream like this, one where he knew it was a dream. It’s been a while since he had any sort of dream besides a nightmare, really. _

_ Just as the realization of where he is has settled in, the world around him shifts indescribably, seeming to expand outward and fold inward and fall away all at once. In a blink, his surroundings have given way to something new, something familiar. _

_ Tim is in his childhood room, the space he had carved for himself amidst the too-quiet pocket dimension that was Drake Manor. It wasn’t the empty, dusty space he had found upon investigation when he last stopped by in a moment of undeserving nostalgia, either. This was the room from his memories, walls plastered in posters of bands and videogames and a few select heroes and a certain family of acrobats. All the things his child-self had enjoyed and idolized.  _

_ And on his desk a familiar lockbox left open, baring the photographs that had started it all. _

_ Somewhere in the house, a door slammed closed, knocking Tim out of his drifting thoughts. Outside, a car rumbles to life, and a peak out the window reveals the retreating figure of a familiar black SUV that his parent’s driving company seemed to prefer. The cars that constantly seemed to take the two older Drakes away and leave the youngest behind. _

_ Tim followed the car’s path until it faded into the hazy distance, wondering why his mind saw fit to replay through these particular trauma’s tonight, when suddenly there was a brush of footsteps and huff of air from the doorway behind him. _

_ A younger Tim- Timmy, his brain decided- entered the space abruptly, throwing himself roughly onto the bed in a way that would have made his parents and housekeeper sigh for the sake of the carefully ironed clothes that Timmy was dressed in. Timmy lay face down in the same position that he had fallen into just long enough for Tim to feel the pricking of concern, but eventually the younger boy rolled over onto his back to stare at the ceiling, sighing heavily. _

_ “They left again,” Timmy says without warning, to himself or to his spectral guest Tim couldn’t tell. “They’re  _ always  _ leaving me. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, they never stay.” _

_ Tim shifts carefully closer, unsure if an actual response is expected here until Timmy abruptly jackknifes upwards to make eye contact with Tim where he stood, seemingly unsurprised to find the older version of himself in his room. _

_ Ok. Tim wasn’t just supposed to be observing, then. _

_ “What am I missing?” the young boy asks, voice thick with sadness and desperation. “Why am I never enough to get anyone to stay. It must be my fault, right? What am I missing?” _

_ Tim’s chest suddenly feels surprisingly tight, considering that this is a dream. _

_ “I don’t know,” he answers quietly, glancing out the window into the seemingly endless grounds that separated the two dark haired boys from the rest of the world. “If I had ever managed to figure that out, I would tell you. Maybe things would have turned out differently.” _

_ He turned back towards the bed, only to be surprised into taking a step back when he finds that Timmy has somehow managed to get off of the bed and move next to him without making a sound. The smaller boy is studying the spread of photographs splayed across the desk. A familiar camera now hangs around the small boy’s neck, putting into perspective how small he is. Was Tim really that small at this age?  _

_ Not that he could realistically be considered tall now, but still. _

_ Timmy trailed his fingers lightly over the photographs that had been the centerpoint of his childhood, a faintly hopeful look of awe sketched into his features. _

_ “At least I’ll always have Batman and Nightwing and Robin though, right? They’re so cool. They put themselves at risk every night, just to help people, and no one even knows who they are. There’s no one to recognize what they’re doing for the city. Except for me,” Timmy nods to himself determinedly. _

_ “I know who they are, even if no one else does. Dick, and Bruce, and Jason. And Barbara, and the rest of the Justice League. They all care so much for the city and the world, for all these people that they don’t even know. They’re nice to me, the few times we’ve met in person, even though I was so awkward about it. They  _ care _. And maybe… maybe if I watch them long enough, I can figure out how to be brave and help people, too. Maybe then Mom and Dad will like me enough that they can stay.” _

_ Timmy fades into silence at that, intensely analyzing a picture of Robin II- Jason- mid-leap off a building, grin visible even from the distance between him and the too-small photographer. It was one of the last pictures he had taken, Tim remembered, before Jason had- _

_ An explosion goes off in the distance, seeming to both be right on top of them and far, far away. Both of the Tim’s jump slightly in surprise. Timmy in particular seems extremely spooked by the noise, surprise shifting into horror as Tim watches. _

_ “Jason…” Timmy breathes out, and with that he turns and bolts from the bedroom. _

_ Tim is frozen for a few seconds longer, trying to piece together the puzzle he had just been given, until suddenly he understands. Jason has died, and Timmy has gone to confront Batman in the aftermath. Gone to alter the course of his life forever in ways that no one could have predicted. In ways that led Tim to where he is now. _

_ “Wait!” Tim calls out for his younger self, suddenly desperate to hold onto that quiet, youthful hope for a bit longer. “Timmy, wait for a second!” _

_ Tim bolts after the boy, unsure exactly why he even feels the urge to follow. Does he want to warn him? To help him? To  _ stop  _ him? Either way, it doesn’t matter right now. Tim is throwing himself roughly into the hallway, latching onto the door frame to use as a pivot point slingshot himself after the small, quickly fading footsteps. _

_ But it wasn’t meant to be. The world shifts around him, the floor dissolves away, and Tim falls. _

\---

Tim is awoken abruptly the next morning, ripped suddenly from a dream that he could remember. All he could cling to were flashes of color- gleaming metal slashing through the air, a trail of scarlet red, burning green eyes. But even that was fading as his mind began to power on enough to process why he had been awoken. 

The number of intruders was the first thing to register, Tim’s heart starting to flood with adrenaline as he scrambled for a defense before he registered the  _ who _ . 

Apparently it was not just Adam preparing him for the day today, but a whole entourage of servants with their arms full of cloth and fruit and various products. It takes him only a moment of blinking the sleep from his eyes and calming his racing heart for Tim to remember what was so special about today that would warrant the extra attention.

Oh right. The Ascension Ceremony that Ra’s had mentioned.

This… was actually happening.

He didn’t fight it as his visitors- his prep team, apparently- set to their jobs as soon as they entered. The blinds were pulled open before Tim could fully blink himself awake, Adam and another male tugging him from his bed and towards the bathroom, leaving the rest to work in the bedroom. 

Tim was more confused and curious than upset by the lack of information he had been given the precious day. Ra’s did always seem amused by trying to catch him unprepared.

The bathroom tiles were cool under Tim’s bare feet when they entered the room. The bathtub was already running, and an array of various oils and powders distributed into different small bowls sat inconspicuously on a tray to the side. The young girl who had apparently been the one to set up while Tim was still waking up in the other room bowed to him quickly and slipped from the bathroom without a sound, closing the door.

The young man Tim didn’t recognize stepped forward purposefully to start pouring some, but not all, of the set aside materials into the steaming water as the fairly large tub slowly filled. He seemed very familiar with the procedure, Tim observed. It was a practiced pattern, a pinch here, a few drops there, the whole bowl for another. It was intentional, verging on hypnotic.

Adam snapped Tim out of his semi-trance when he started tugging at the fastenings of Tim’s sleep clothing. It took a moment for Tim to realize what the man was trying to accomplish, and once it clicked he found himself reflexively flinching away, eyes wide.

“Um… is that really necessary? I can…” Adam stopped him there with a flat stare.

“Please, sir. The Master has given us our orders. This method of cleansing is traditional to the League, and there is a certain way that this must be done to be proper. The process will go much faster if you do not resist.”

Tim put up a token resistance for a bit longer, but eventually submitted grudgingly with the knowledge that if anyone did something he didn’t approve of it would be simple for him to tell Ra’s and get them punished. 

The thought of Ra’s reigning down punishment on those who wronged Tim should  _ not  _ have been as comforting as it was. The discomfort around the idea that Tim’s mind had decided that Ra’s equaled safety worried at the edges of Tim’s thoughts as he undressed. The medium sized towel that he is given to wrap around himself before he is herded into the warm water helps a bit to ease his general discomfort, but does nothing against the growing realization that Tim was growing… complacent. 

He might have agreed to stay, agreed to obey commands like a good little soldier, but he could  _ not _ let himself trust Ra’s. That was a line that Tim would not cross.

The bathwater is just under the edge of too-hot when Tim settles in. The oils and salts and herbs that had been added give the steam a faint scent that was almost floral, creating a surprisingly relaxing atmosphere considering how tense Tim has been since… well, since he’d left Gotham really. This aura was strengthened as not-Adam started to take some of the remaining oils and rubbed them carefully into Tim’s hair, rinsing with the warm water between each set. Adam took Tim’s hands and feet, rubbing in some sort of lotion and carefully smoothing out Tim’s long-abused nails. 

By the time they were both done, despite Tim’s ingrained paranoid nature, Tim was feeling more relaxed than he could ever remember being. He found himself blinking heavily as he was pulled from the water and handed a new, larger towel to try off with. That was quickly exchanged with a pale green silk robe. Not-Adam stayed in the bathroom to clean up while Tim and his main caretaker left the secluded chamber to see what had been done to his room in their absence.

There was a small table set up with a variety of fruits and proteins and breads, all light foods that Tim could remember having enjoyed while dining with Ra’s in the past. He wasn’t oblivious enough to think that the choices were made randomly. He was prodded into a cushioned chair and handed a gold-edged plate that already had things portioned out for him.

It was around this point where it fully dawned on Tim that Ra’s was really taking this Ceremony seriously, and all of the decisions had been made without Tim’s knowledge or agreement. Tim wasn’t really sure how to feel about that, so he chose to enjoy the quick meal and not think about how his life was spiraling further and further out of control.

Almost too quickly ( _ apparently _ they were on some sort of schedule here) the spread of food, table and all, was being pulled away, and a new woman was approaching Tim’s chair with a tray of supplies. Tim’s focus snapped to her when she picked up a pair of scissors.

“Hair,” she said in heavily accented English, opening and closing the scissors demonstratively. Tim frowned, hesitant to comply when he knew that he would likely have so say in the end result.

“Is that really needed?” Tim tried asking. “I don’t really mind it this length.”

The woman frowned, turning towards Adam where he had been lingering at the edge of the action and letting out a string of Arabic too quick for Tim to follow properly. The two went back and forth a bit before the young man finally stepped forward slightly.

“She is insisting that, at least for today, the haircut is necessary, another step of the ceremonial rebirth into your new role as Heir. After today you will likely be able to grow it out as you wish, as long as the Master has no complaints.”

Tim shot him an unimpressed scowl, but twenty minutes later his hair was once again cut into a style that was much closer to his Robin days then he was entirely comfortable with.  _ Circles and circles _ , his mind echoed to him as he eyed his reflection in the mirror. The hairstyle might be generally the same, but overall it was shocking how much his appearance had changed just over the last year. The white splash amidst his black hair, the green in his eyes, the overall haggard edge to his appearance. A few pale scars that hadn’t managed to entirely heal from some thing or another.

There was a feeling of disconnect swirling in Tim’s gut, a small part of him that denied the changes. If Tim hadn’t been there for all of it, he might have not recognized himself.

The rest of him knew that it was all too real.

The final step was clothing. By this point most of the servants who had originally come had since completed their task and left. Adam slipped into the small attached living space to leave Tim to get himself dressed, giving Tim his first opportunity to be alone since waking. The former vigilante took a moment to center himself, forcing in a deep breath before moving to analyze what he had been given to wear.

The first impression Tim got from looking at the outfit was that it was essentially a more ceremonial, less practical version of his Ghost suit as far as colors went. The pants were very similar to his Ghost ones, dark grey and seemingly slightly armored with the seams sewed together with a thick gold thread. There was an inner layer to the fabric that seemed to be moisture wicking. Black boots with more subtle hints of gold slid over his feet easily, perfectly sized to him.

The shirt had a base color of forest green. It fit tightly around his chest then hung loosely from below his ribs to past his waist, decorated with a complicated gold threaded design that seemed to add a not insignificant amount of weight to the shirt. Tim wouldn’t be surprised if there was some armor tucked in between the design and main layer, with how heavy it was. The sleeves were thin and hung to his wrists loosely, and were very flowy when Tim moved his arms experimentally. The back of the shirt was partially open, with a crisscross of green and gold fabric threading over the open space and revealed skin.

Overall, Tim was rather surprised by the choice, but he didn’t hate it. It was obvious that Ra’s had the outfit made just for this event. How long had Ra’s been planning this before he had informed Tim? Was this ceremony always going to be inevitable? How long ago did Ra’s start looking for an opening to ensnare him?

Tim gave himself a moment, just a second or two, to study the effect the clothing had on his appearance in the mirror. The boy looking back at him had a faint air of royalty and immortality and power that Ra’s always seemed to emanate in a room. The type of strength that wasn’t all that different from Batman’s.

It wasn’t a look that Tim had ever expected to see on himself.

The uncomfortable disconnected feeling swelled again in his gut, and Tim forced himself to turn away from the mirror and exit the bedroom to rejoin Adam.

Tim wasn’t all that surprised to find that Adam was not alone in the room. In fact, the young man had backed himself as close to the right wall as he possibly could have, hands clasped behind him and eyes locked on the floor by his feet.

Two of Ra’s personal guards waited in the middle of the space, shoulders and head held stiffly below intricate armor, dominant hands resting lightly on the pommel of their swords. The elder of the two appraised Tim’s appearance before giving a slight nod, and Adam shuffled quickly out the door at the signal.

“Are you ready, Ghost, sir? We are here per the orders of the Demon’s Head to escort you to him and those gathered.”

Tim froze, for just a moment, as it hit him again what he was about to begin. He was… going to be Ra’s  _ heir _ . Officially. Even if the whole thing was mostly symbolic, there was no denying that this wouldn’t affect him or how others viewed him. He didn’t even know what he was being led to  _ do _ .

The doubt again reared its head, and Tim found himself swallowing down the lump threatening to close his throat. He’d made this choice. He’d made a promise to protect Bruce, and now he was paying his dues. No matter how much he wished it, he had lost his place in Gotham, and the choices he made since had led him here, to this moment. Tim didn’t have any other options anymore, not without risking retribution for his betrayal. And he wouldn’t- couldn’t- risk that. 

“Lets go, then,” Tim agreed confidently, and he followed the two guards out into the hall, allowing them and their two compatriots to escort him towards their destination.

\---

_ To Tim’s surprise, instead of waking up after the world dissolves, he finds himself instead standing on a rooftop in the middle of a sprawling city. The sky is dark and starless, due to a combination of pollution and cloud cover. The skyline is familiar to Tim in the same way that his name is.  _

_ This is Gotham. _

_ For a swooping, energizing and fear-filled moment, Tim wonders how he got here. Then the fuzziness at the edges of the world processes, the details his eyes can’t quite seem to focus on, and it confirms what he already knew deep down- this is still a dream. _

_ The realization does little to comfort him as he tries to piece together the parts of the scene that refuse to focus into definition, the pieces that have apparently grown hazy in his mind over the time that he’s been gone. He used to know every inch of this city. Has it really almost been a year since he had set foot here? Has he already started to forget this much? _

_ The  _ clink-snap _ of a grapple line connecting and the metallic hum of the device retracting distracts him, prompting him to spin around to face his approaching visitor. His eyes catch on the flashes of yellow-red-green through the darkness. Tim has only a split second to worry that Damian is coming to antagonize him even in his dreams, until his eyes properly focus on the intrinsically familiar uniform, slim build, and shy grin. Robin III. He’s talking to himself again. _

_ Robin disengages the grapple hook with practiced ease, snapping the device back onto its place on his belt. The grin he gives Tim is pleased, but with an edge of uncertainty, as if the boy is unfamiliar with such a feeling. That small, genuine smile is giving Tim all sorts of flashbacks. _

_ The masked boy pivots away to study the cityscape before he speaks. _

_ “I don’t think I could ever get over how it feels to fly over the city like that, like the troubles of the world can’t touch you anymore. Does it ever get old?” _

_ “No,” the older Tim answers after a moment of contemplative silence, feeling the familiar tug of wistfulness that had never left him after all this time away. “You’ll never get tired of that feeling, of being Robin. Even when everything is falling apart, it never completely leaves you. Gotham will always be a part of you.” _

_ Robin smiles again, just a bit brighter. _

_ “That’s good to hear… because right now, I think Robin was probably the best thing that ever happened to me,” the boy admits, moving to sit with his legs dangling over the edge of the building. After a moment of hesitation, Tim moves forward to mirror the position. _

_ “Of course, it’s not easy by a long shot,” Robin continued, expression distant. “I didn’t intend to take on the job myself, not at first. But B was so… sad. And Nightwing was too mad at him. And they both needed help to get away from Two-Face. And all the sudden, I was Robin.” _

_ The last line is said with an unconscious touch of awe, as if the boy was still surprised by the idea even after months of training. Tim could barely remember that feeling now. The boy in front of him was an echo of what once was. _

_ “Training was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through,” Robin continued, “even with all the martial arts lessons and practice running over rooftops. And that's not including all the times that B made it obvious that he didn’t really want me there, at first. And when he stumbles a bit before saying my name, when he cuts off a move to reach towards me. He gets this… look in his eyes, you know? When he forgets that I’m not Jason. But I have to keep trying, you know? Batman is the only thing that held my life together when my parents started leaving all the time. He’s Gotham’s defender, her Dark Knight. If he falls apart, it wouldn’t be just me that suffers. I can’t be like Jason, I don’t think I ever will be. But I can help him with this. I can remind him what he’s fighting for.” _

_ The boy nods, and Tim’s heart aches with the memory of that certainty, that stubborn determination. The path forward had been so obvious back then, there hadn’t been an alternative, not for him. _

_ “You do help him,” Tim assures his younger self. “The years you spend together- it never gets easier. But you help him- help each other.” _

_ Robin nods again, face serious. _

_ “That’s good to hear. Because I think… I think that I could be happy here. Bruce is smiling more, Dick comes by on weekends and patrols with me and calls me little brother. Alfred talks to me when I come in, and he actually  _ listens _. They all do, really. And there are other heroes, the Justice League and the Teen Titans and even a couple new heroes that are closer to my age. We hang out, sometimes. It's… It’s almost like having a family. Even if-” _

_ Robin cuts off suddenly, body tensing up. Tim’s eyes snap back towards him in time to watch the growing anxiety, the boy’s hand clenching into a fist and relaxing repeatedly in a pointless attempt to relieve the tension. _

_ “Even if Mom is-” _

_ He stands, abruptly, stumbling back from the edge of the building as his breathing picks up. Tim stands as well, but keeps his distance as the once-content boy in front of him slowly starts to unravel. _

_ “No… this can’t be right, it can’t. Jason is alive, but everything is wrong. Everything is going wrong. Stephanie can’t be dead. And- and Dad. Dad can’t leave me too, not like Mom did. What am I supposed to-” Robin curls in on himself with a sudden cry, his hands digging into the fabric over his chest. From the point of contact, color bleeds outward, staining the yellows and greens of the Robin uniform into blacks and reds, the boy’s face growing older and more pained. _

_ “Connor,” he moans, as if struck a mortal blow. “Connor and Bart, too. Everyone is… why is everyone leaving again? Everything had been getting better… it was getting better! Why is everyone I love  _ dying _! Why can’t anyone stay! I just-” _

_ Robin’s knees drop out from under him. As he falls onto all fours the Gotham rooftop starts to glitch and pixelate around them, Tim watching the scene play out in mute horror as a twin pain chews its way through his chest, making it hard to breathe. Their surroundings grow darker, streetlights seeming to dim as the world is slowly washed over in shades of red. _

_ “Bruce,” the boy sobs, oblivious to the world falling apart around him. “Bruce can’t die too, Batman can’t die! What does that leave me, leave the city! Batman can’t die! I won’t allow it! There's something wrong, something we’re missing. I can feel it, I know it. You just have to believe me, Dick.” _

_ Suddenly, Robin is on his feet again, but by now even the Robin uniform is starting to glitch away, and Tim has a sinking feeling that he knows why. _

_ “Dick… you can’t… You can’t take... Damian can’t… no. What about me? What about  _ us _? You said we were brothers, you said we were equals, you said you would always listen to me. When did that change! You have to believe me. I’ll prove it, I know I'm not crazy. You’ll see, everyone will see. I know I’m right. I know it.” _

_ Robin continued to mumble to himself, scattered pleas and locations and evidence, new names that he barely gave voice too, as if scared to let them too close. Gotham had somehow glitched into a red washed desertscape, the Robin uniform had dissolved away into Red Robin’s cape and cowl. But the boy-who-was-Robin noticed none of this slipping away, too caught up in his mind to notice what was happening around him.  _

_ To notice the shadowy figure approaching from behind him. _

_ Tim tried to cry out a warning, he did. But the attempts all caught in his throat, and then it was too late. Red Robin let out a choked scream as the blade pushed through his chest, the tip glinting red. The black cowl flickers away to reveal the Robin green-and-yellow, the last strands of the boy-who-was-Robin rattling a final, faint rattle of breath as his eyes locked pleadingly with Tim’s.  _

_ “No… wait…” _

_ The desert scene shattered around them as Robin himself did, the world once again collapsing and falling away and dissolving into nothing. Tim found himself back where he started, in that expanse of white nothingness.  _

_ Robin was gone. _

_ But Tim wasn’t alone this time. _

\---

Tim was not at all surprised when the guards marched him straight up to the double doors of Ra’s rarely used throne room. After all, this was exactly the kind of official business that the immortal claimed to have built it for.

Two of the guards pulled ahead from the group as the elegant doors came into view, taking up positions on either side before sharply turning, movements in sync, to face Tim. Behind him, the rest of the group moved to line the hall, their escort role complete. 

Tim took in a deep breath and nodded stiffly. The doors were pushed inward to admit him, and Tim stepped forward, slowly making his way across the room. 

Besides the central pathway, the room was filled with people. Tim did his best to analyze the crowd out of the corner of his eyes, determined to give off an unaffected air. There was a clearly noticeable trend towards heavily built males, but women or those with slimmer builds weren’t significantly lacking in numbers. The proportions weren’t all that surprising considering where they were- Tim’s size would always make him stand out here.

It only took a few recognizable faces before Tim determined that those present were a collection of Ra’s upper crust of operatives, his generals and strategists and otherwise favored assassins. Tim was almost positive that he caught a glimpse of Pru’s distinctively hairless head tucked against the far wall. There were quite a few people that he had been introduced to before, but also many that were unfamiliar. The range in ethnicities seemed more evenly spread than normal, leading Tim to believe that many of the new people had been called in from their various posts around the world.

All to witness the ceremony. They were here for him. Tim could already feel Ra’s eyes boring into him, judging his reaction to the crowd, studying the way the selected clothing fit him. Tim refused to give away any indication that he was nervous.

Finally Tim reached the base of the podium where Ra’s sat waiting, a small group of guards standing stiffly at attention behind him. The observing crowds eyes burned into his back, all behind him now since they were giving the two steps up to the podium a wide berth. Tim, on the other hand, walked straight up to the base of the steps, halting just short to look at Ra’s for a cue. The immortal’s eyes flashed with stifled emotion (amusement?) at Tim’s hesitation, and his left hand made a small motion. A flick of fingers towards himself and then down. 

Tim took three steps forward, carrying him up the stairs and on level with Ra’s, and then knelt at the immortal’s feet, head bowed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the small nod of approval. 

The next silent order was a small  _ stay _ motion as Ra’s stood and stepped forward, just out of range of Tim’s vision. The low murmurs that had previously filled the room cut out without prompting.

“Today,” Ra’s began, “you all, my most faithful servants, have been summoned here to witness the Accession of this young man, formerly known to the world as Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, to the position of the Demon’s Heir. Over the past months staying with us he has worked hard under my orders to prove himself as worthy of the title. He has broken ties with his former life. He has proven time and again that he is strong in body and mind. He has proven that he is compatible with the Lazarus. He has worked alongside our forces, and single-handedly defeated many of our foes. And just days ago, he accomplished a task that many had believed impossible.”

Ra’s fingertips were suddenly pressed against the back of Tim’s head, a light touch against his hairline. Tim did not react outwardly, he didn’t let himself. But his mind was all over the place, focusing on what he was about to do, the choices that had led him here, Ra’s words, the gentle pressure of his fingers.

Tim sucked in another breath, slow and controlled, and he stayed.

“Today, Timothy will be marked as one of the League, as al-Ghul, as Heir to the Demon’s Head. Now and forever.”

“Now and forever,” the room echoed quietly without prompting. Tim once found himself suppressing a shudder.

Two men stepped forward out of the shadows to Tim’s left, one with a small but intricate bowl and one with a small, handheld, mechanical-looking device. Tim caught a glimpse of dark liquid and the glint of a needle before Ra’s was tugging at his shoulder to turn him slightly, and suddenly Tim understood.

_ Marking _ him, Ra’s had said. Tim should have been more suspicious of the word choice. 

The servant- tattoo artist?- tugged at the strips of fabric running across Tim’s back until they loosened and fell away, the entire piece of fabric falling forward until it pooled on the ground by Tim’s knees. Tim tried to glance up at Ra’s, to get a read on his expression, but the hand still resting against his fresh-cut hair pushed gently against the attempted movement, fingers curling slightly. A comfort and a warning all in one.

So Tim held still, even as he felt the first bite of the needle just below the base of his neck.

Time stretched onward. Ra’s filled the time with tales of the past, of those who came before. Stories of heritage and loyalty and power. Tim did his best to follow the words, all too aware that Ra’s was not one to share his words without thought.

“The ink,” Ra’s said at one point, “is a special blend, containing traces of Lazarus water. This serves many purposes. It is a final mark of compatibility, another symbol of eternal service, and it prevents the markings from being erased should the bearer become injured enough to use a Lazarus Pit to heal.”

_ In other words,  _ Tim translated,  _ there is no way for it to be removed. No way for me to forget. _

The tattoo itself took the rest of Tim’s focus as he tried to track the needle’s path across his back and shoulders, trailing down to the small of his back. It was far from the worst pain he had ever been exposed to, but over time the general stinging sensation made it hard to keep a mental picture of what was being done to him. The pain did seem to be fading faster than Tim thought was usual… another effect of the Lazarus water in the ink, maybe?

The science of it all was much more pleasant to contemplate than the coiling in his gut that tightened whenever Tim thought about the lack of control he held.

After a small eternity, the hum of the tattoo gun cut off. Tim was pulled to his feet, pausing for a moment with his back presented to the crowd. In the reflective gold and clear mirrors of the room, Tim finally got his first look at the mark, and found himself struggling to look away.

A surprisingly intricate dragon, as viewed from above, was detailed out in the dark ink. It stretched across his upper back, head resting just below his neck and wings spread wide across his upper shoulder blades. The creature's tail hung further down his back, slightly curled into the ending barb. Below that, trailing down Tim’s spine, was a very familiar Arabic script. A name.

Drake and al-Ghul. Let it not be said that Ra’s didn’t have a sense of irony.

In a way, Tim thought somewhat hysterically, it was almost like the dragon was attempting to fly upward against the weight of that name. He then promptly buried such thoughts below his Ghost mask, one that was growing more and more familiar as time went on. He could not break down here.

There was another silent prompt for Tim to turn and face the crowd, and he found himself consciously holding his facial expression blank of anything that they would perceive as a weakness. There was a slide of fabric to Tim’s left, and Ra’s distinctive green cloak was settled over Tim’s shoulders, the immortal’s arm following to tug Tim slightly closer.

“Behold,” Ra’s announced, his deep voice marking the final seal on Tim’s fate. “Timothy Drake al-Ghul, Ghost, the Demon’s Heir.”

Spread out below them, the gathered mix of trained killers, spies, and saboteurs dropped to one knee, bowing their heads. Bowing to them. To him, Tim. Timothy. Son of Jack and Janet and Bruce. Brother to many and none. Ghost. The newest Demon’s Heir.

A complex flood of emotion poured into the boy’s veins, shocking the parts of him that were still Tim into a numb standstill.

Outwardly, Ghost gave the crowd a self-assured grin. And it began.

\---

_ Tim and Ghost stood eye to eye, green to blue, calm to fury. Ghost still held that accursed blade in his hand, the tip glinting red from the blood of the innocent boy he had just slain. The edges of Tim’s world flashed green. _

_ “Why would you do that!” Tim bellowed at the blank-faced figure who stood across from him, his mind spiraling into shock. “Why would you kill him! He was just a boy! Hadn’t he been through enough pain already? He didn’t need to die!” _

_ “Didn’t he, though?” Ghost scoffed, taking a moment to flick the blade clean before sliding it into its sheath, the crimson disappearing into the air. Ghost took a small step forward, closing the gap between the two figures confidently. “Come on, Timothy, Janet raised you better than that.  _ Bruce  _ raised you better than that. He was nothing more than a liability soaked in weakness. We had to put him down gently before he destroyed us.” _

_ “He was an innocent, a child! He was just scared and alone! Of course he was suffering!” _

_ “And I put him out of his misery!” Ghost snapped, green eyes alight with frustration. “He kept trying to hold onto hope time and time again, trying to cling to a family that wouldn’t ever love him back, again and  _ again _. He would have done nothing but cause us more pain, if we let him. He was holding us back, making it impossible to move on. There is no room for that kind of emotional weakness for us, not anymore. We had to eliminate him.” _

_ “It was our job to protect him.” _

_ “Come on Timothy,” Ghost snapped, irritated. “You of all people should know how pointless protecting someone like that from the world is. He was born believing that everything was intrinsically good, that he could find a family that would love him and friends that would stand by him through everything. The world isn’t like that! Not for us! It broke him! It tears us down, again and again, it offers a hint of happiness and then rips it away just as we have begun to accept that maybe, this time, it’s ours to keep. We can’t keep hanging on to that kind of childlike hope anymore, we won’t survive it!” _

_ “Was none of it real, then? Did none of it matter?” _

_ Ghost’s eyes abruptly lost their inner fire, the green mellowing out to a duller hue as all the fight seemed to trickle away into nothingness. _

_ “I wish I could tell you that it was real, that it did matter. For a while at least. But honestly… I don’t know either. I just… we  _ can’t  _ take that sort of pain, not anymore. If it happens again, if we fall apart again, I don’t think we’re ever going to recover.” _

_ The two boys, two parts of the same whole, fell into silence, both letting the reality sink in. _

_ “What do we do now,” Tim finally said. “Our life has always been about that hope, that dream of something better. If we can’t follow that anymore, what are we supposed to do?” _

_ Ghost grinned, the broken edges of Janet son and Dick’s brother and Bruce’s partner all shining through to showcase what he was becoming, the dark being that Tim could feel encroaching further into his psyche with every step forward. The person that he had long been afraid of becoming, but with each passing day seemed more inevitable. _

_ “That’s the beauty of it, Timothy. You can do whatever you want for once. You just have to learn to let go.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW FOR:  
> -child neglect/abandonment (nothing physical there)  
> -character death (could be classified as a major character? its during a dream sequence)  
> -dubiously welcome tattoo acquisition and haircut (because Ra's has a thing for control, permanence, and irony)  
> -Finally, Tim, as part of the preparation leading up to the ceremony, Tim is given a "traditional" bath in which two other males are present and assisting him. Tim gets a bit stressed about it at first but nothing bad actually takes place, just some nice head/hand/foot massaging. For the most part Tim even has a towel wrapped around his waist for privacy. I know in some cultures this is much more commonplace (ex: public bathhouses and hot springs?), but Tim and I are American, and I know that things involving minors (Tim is still just under 18) can be dangerous territory for some people. If you think there is a chance this could bother you please skip over the part in the first non-italic section where Tim is in the bathroom. 
> 
> If you feel that there are any related tags that should be added because of this chapter feel free to let me know! Most of this should never pop up again beyond potential references that it happened in the past.
> 
> Stay safe everyone <3


	10. I've Been Burying My Sins (and Paid a Deadly Cost)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day by day, Tim keeps pushing forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides slowly through door, grinning sheepishly*  
> Oops, this took longer then I thought. Is that "last update" date really right? It didn't seem like that long. I blame all the other amazing fanfic writers on this site for distracting me.
> 
> Anyways, here it is, chapter 10! AND I have a tentative chapter count! So that's cool. Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long, we shall see. No special warnings this time, just the usual levels of violence and Tim angsting to himself. 
> 
> That's about it this time. As always thank you so much for the comments and kudos, they really feed the writing demons that keep this fic going XD
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from Mostly by Vian Izak

Tim stared blankly into the ceiling as the door closed softly across the room. His cheeks were cooling and eyes raw with the aftermath of his latest breakdown. This time, he had no one to blame but himself for his predicament.

No wonder Bruce hadn’t come back for him yet. Tim had truly fallen too far now.

This time it had started, though Tim hadn’t realized it at the time, when he ran his first official League of Assassins mission. 

In the aftermath of the Ascension Ceremony, things with the League had steadily shifted around Tim. There had been a month of near-constant movement. Tim and Ra’s had jumped between bases every few days, traveling across the world. Ra’s claimed it was for Tim’s education. Tim suspected that it was to throw off anyone who could have been following them. 

Somewhere during that time marked the passing of Tim’s 18th birthday, and shortly thereafter came the one year mark since he left Gotham. Outside of a small comment by Ra’s over the former, neither of the two milestones were remarked upon by anyone but the shadows lurking in Tim's mind.

They had finally settled in a base known as The Sanctuary, one of Ra’s largest strongholds in Asia. Tim wasn’t sure exactly what country they were in, since The Sanctuary functioned as its own, isolated, self-sustaining city-state surrounded by open fields. Most of the people living there spoke English or Arabic and were a mixture of ethnicity's, just like all the other League bases Tim had been to. The architecture was also the same style here, no help at all. Ra’s was, if one thing, consistent in his tastes.

They had settled in further there, after it had been declared that they were staying there for the next few months. The duo and their entourage had been in Sanctuary for less than two weeks before Ra’s summoned Tim to his office outside of the usual pattern. And things changed further.

Tim was presented with a slightly modified Ghost suit and a mission outline, and told to head out within a couple of hours. He was officially being marked as active duty, only on non-assassination based missions for now. So Tim hopped into a helicopter for the first time without Ra’s in ages, a small team behind him and the dragon mark inked into his back now prominent on his chestplate.

The mission itself had been relatively straightforward. Tim was to act in Ra’s stead to finalize a resources-for-protection deal with a weapons manufacturer. Him and a squad of low-level assassins had been delivered to an unfamiliar city an hour or so from base that Tim was 95% sure was somewhere in China. From there they had been received by a small group of thoroughly armed guards, who then escorted them to an equally fortified building that appeared to be their main base of operation. 

There had only been a small hiccup early on. The leader of the group had apparently been under the impression that Ra’s himself was the one who was supposed to come and finalize the agreement. The fact that it was just Tim, Ghost, who was still all but an unknown entity outside of the League, had been a rather unwelcome surprise for the manufacturing boss, who was in all likelihood more than twice Tim’s age. 

It had almost broken into a fight when the leader (gang lord? Mafia boss? Tim wasn't sure of the preferred terminology here) had reacted badly. Tim’s retinue of assassins had been moments from attacking at the hint of anger, but Tim had ordered them back and had salvaged the deal.

This hadn’t gone over as well for everyone on the League’s side, though. There were a couple of assassins that had voiced discontent with the decision during the briefing, supposedly upset about the slight to Ra’s and, more likely, the lost chance to spill blood. That reaction should have been Tim’s warning sign. As it was, Tim just gave them all his usual explanation about violence not always being the answer, and the importance of maintaining strong allies for the betterment of the overall mission. 

Ra’s had agreed with the decision that Tim had made to salvage the deal, and that was enough for the former vigilante to set the issue aside for a while. After all, he had other things to occupy his mind.

Upon Tim’s return, he had immediately been buried by the latest reports from his network in Gotham. Nightwing’s sudden return to the streets and the continued, seemingly reinvigorated presence of Batman abounded in the local and world news. Bruce was in the suit again, his new Robin at his side. Nightwing and Batgirl and even Red Hood had also been spotted working alongside him.

There was still no indication that any of them, or any of the other JLA or Titan’s members, were planning an attack on the League of Assassins. It was just back to business as usual.

_ Were they going to come for him? Did Tim want them to come? _

The news was… a bit distracting. It left Tim off kilter and unsure of himself. He was incredibly glad that Ra’s had given him a few days of recuperation before throwing him into another mission, so he could afford the time to process this new revelation without pressure. Tim took to roaming the halls of the central palace of The Sanctuary, lost in thought. It’s not like anyone was going to stop him.

As it was, Tim had almost zero warning when, two days later, two figures slipped out of the shadows. Figures with knives. Who immediately went after the unarmed boy between them.

Tim’s mind immediately spiraled into a panic at the unexpected attack. His thought process had been so far from his surroundings, so  _ stupidly _ convinced that he was perfectly safe here, that the sudden attack pulled his consciousness to a momentary halt in shock as he tried to snap back into reality.

The green haze that constantly lingered at the edges of his mind, however, did not falter.

Everything went fuzzy around him, just for a few moments. A series of rapid movement and sound flashed by fast enough that Tim’s conscious brain couldn’t follow any of it through the haze of green. 

The Lazarus was the part of him that managed to respond to the threat. And Tim came back to awareness mere moments later to find a blood soaked carpet and two dark-clad figures on the ground.

One of them was breathing raggedly, a knife buried in his chest. The other was still and silent, red sluggishly leaking from their- his- throat. Both figures were very large and clearly male. The head covering for the unmoving one had shifted in the battle, so Tim could see enough of the man’s face to read the surprise and terror there. Could see enough to recognize the man as one of the ones who had disagreed with him after the mission a few days ago. And Tim understood, then, what had happened.

Tim couldn’t focus. Reality shrunk down to that pool of red, the injuries that he had inflicted. He was only loosely aware of the sudden uptick in volume seconds- minutes?- later when the ninja who usually trailed Tim’s movements clued in that something was amiss. Hands pulled him away, patting carefully over his body to check for injury. He continued to float somewhere above it all, detached from his own body.

Voices tried to speak to him, some more familiar than others. They tried to get him to respond, to pull him back into reality. But the last threads of Tim’s rationality knew that as soon as he checked back in, he would fall apart. And he couldn’t do that here, in front of everyone.

So he waited for that one, deeper, concerned voice. The large hands that were danger-but-safe. The familiar weight of fabric being draped over his shoulders. Tim could let himself focus back in a bit more now, enough to process that danger-safe-man was trying to talk to him as well. His words, at least, had to be processed.

“Are you alright, Timothy? What do you need?”

“Away,” Tim managed to articulate, his tongue stiff and awkward in his mouth. “I can’t, here. I need-”

“Alright,” the man said, quick and reassuring and a couple other layered emotions that Tim couldn’t parse out as he was now. But Tim was being taken away from the gruesome hallway, back into a vaguely familiar room, so the exact details of the exchange were unneeded. 

He robotically moved himself to the bed against the far wall, following the light touches and quiet voices that directed him to the bed, the familiar voice staying back a bit and giving orders. Something wet and soft and warm rubbed across Tim’s skin. His shirt was tugged off, but the pants were left alone, apparently passing the test of his assessors.

Tim didn’t want to think too hard about what they had been removing, at the moment.

The number of people in the room steadily dwindled until it was just him and the first man. Ra’s, his mind reminded him. This was Ra’s. For a few moments it was silent, Tim wrapped in warm, soft blankets, Ra’s standing awkwardly to the side, hesitant. It was a weird emotion for him, Tim decided.

Eventually Ra’s drew closer, sitting lightly on the bed beside the smaller, slightly shaking young man.

“Timothy? Are you alright?” he asked again.

This time, Tim let the question process fully in his brain, and he dragged his consciousness through the motions of checking in on himself, searching for injury. When nothing of notice came up besides a slight stinging on his knuckles, he decided that he was indeed physically unharmed. So he nodded.

Ra’s let out a soft exhale, shoulders releasing a small layer of tension. One of his arms lifted slowly, fingers lacing gently through Tim’s still fairly short hair.

“I’m very sorry, Timothy. You never should have been placed in this situation. They shouldn’t have been able to slip by so easily. It is being looked into, it won’t happen again.” The fingers rubbed gently against his skull. “This was not your fault, Timothy.”

There is no clear indication of what finally triggers it. The soft blankets. The warm hand. The soft tone. Everything and nothing all at once. But something finally snaps Tim back into reality, and the emotions that he had been suppressing come crashing down all at once.

Tim’s next inhale catches in his throat. His jaw clenches. His eyes sting. And that's all the warning that either of them get before Tim absolutely  _ breaks _ .

He cries for the fear of the attempted assassination. For the loss of control over his entire life. For the guilt of what he has done, and what he fears will happen in the future. 

And somewhere there is acceptance. That this is something that happened. That Tim has completely gone off the deep end. Tim has passed the point of no return. There is a reason that no one has come to take him back to Gotham. They already have enough broken birds to care for.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he could recall sobbing at some point. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“That’s alright,” Ra’s had said, curling his fingers tighter, a controlling pull, yet comforting. “We can rebuild who you are together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

And a statement like that should be setting off… so many alarms in Tim’s brain. But right now he’s just so  _ tired _ of trying to hold it together, he feels like he’s spent lifetimes tied up in all these expectations that he could never meet, trying to please people that would never want him. He was always  _ failing _ . And now he had crossed a line- multiple times- that he had sworn in the beginning to himself and to others that he would never cross.

Now he had crossed that final line as well. Multiple times, in different instances. And it’s been over a month and a half since he had sent Bruce off, with no sign since then that Batman or anyone else would be coming back for Tim. Why would they? He hadn’t ever really been one of them, had he?

So here Tim was, alone again.

But here was Ra’s. Claiming that he wanted Tim, that he would accept him no matter how much he fell apart. The promise that Tim both craved and fought against, that made his heart sing and his blood boil. His life was at war with himself, and Tim was going to fall through the cracks if he didn’t find a hand to hold on to, but it seemed like only one was offering.

It was all wrong. He needed time. He had to  _ think _ . What good was his oh-so-smart brain if he couldn’t figure this out?

So he slowly pulled the pieces back in, one by one, firmly closing all of the doors that had been flung open at the small offer of comfort. He blinked a few times, clearing out the last of the tears from his eyes as his breathing evened out a bit further. Thanked Ra’s for the company and offered a carefully worded request for some time alone to sleep.

Ra’s agreed easily, claiming that he had other things to attend to anyways, and he left with a promise to check in come morning. Night had fallen, at some point. Tim hadn’t noticed.

The weariness pulled at Tim’s stinging eyes and heavy body, but he knew that he was far from sleep. His mind just kept replaying the past day’s events, trying to find all the points where he had made a mistake that led to this moment, laying out all his sins so that he could drown himself in them. 

If there is one thing Tim could do in repentance, it’s ensure that he would never forget everything that he has done. He wouldn’t let himself grow complacent.

The symbol inked into Tim’s back prickled. Time pushed slowly onward. And Tim kept breathing despite it all.

\---

Things around Tim seemed to shift ever so slightly, after that. 

Ever since the Ascension Ceremony- ever since he had first started working closer with the League, really- Tim had been aware that there were people around him who were less than pleased that he had taken up so much of Ra’s attention. To many of them he was still one of the Bats, still a potential enemy in their midst. They were loath to trust him with information, resistant to following his directions. 

The only reason that nothing had happened sooner was because of how closely Ra’s was watching him. Tim was perfectly aware of the horde of ninja constantly trailing him over the past few months. He liked to think that his solo takedown of the majority of the Council of Spiders would have encouraged some hesitation to act against him as well, but the breakdown he had afterwards likely undermined most of that.

So as soon as Ra’s had started loosening the leash, as soon as Tim was deemed mission-ready and trustworthy enough to not be watched 24/7, those who opposed his rapid rise through the ranks had struck. 

They had underestimated him, assuming that two people would be enough to take down an unarmed boy who was unwilling to respond with intent to kill. They had assumed that the Council had been a fluke, or that Tim had better control over the Lazarus impulses now. Tim wasn’t entirely sure, to be honest. 

But the results were clear enough. Tim himself might be unwilling to use lethal measures, but the instinctual part of him lost in the green was not. Those who acted against him would be punished as traitors, either by the Lazarus-crazed Heir or the Demon himself, should they survive the initial attempted strike. 

Tim wasn’t hopeful enough to think that Ra’s had let the second assassin live, even if he had a chance at surviving such a severe injury. He didn’t ask what had happened, and Ra’s never said. 

What Tim  _ did _ know was that Ra’s had launched some sort of internal campaign to track down the others who may have been involved. If the rumors were to be believed two more of the assassins who had been a part of that fateful mission and one higher ranked lieutenant had disappeared overnight a few days later.

Tim didn’t ask about that either, no matter how much Pru and the others of their small group cajoled him to.

The attitude of the masses changed after that, ever so slightly. The many eyes of the League still watched him, appraised him, judged him, but for the time being none of them dared make a move against him. Those who still longed for his violent removal from the ranks were temporarily content to wait patiently for him to fail on his own. This group largely kept their distance, content to watch from afar. 

But there was another group as well, ninja and assassins who floated through the periphery of his routine of training and studying and running missions, occasionally stepping forward to work with him for a session or two before slinking back and letting another take their spot. They were evaluating him, or something. 

Tim wasn’t entirely sure what to do about this one. With the opposition group, he at least knew how to react. After a bit he figured that they seemed innocent enough and that he would let them be for now. He would wait for them to make up their mind.

It was the following missions he ran that took up most of Tim’s focus, mostly by design. Having a clear goal and being able to slip into that blank, logic-based Ghost mindset was almost relieving each time. Each opportunity for Tim to block out all of the stresses from his reality was a welcome one.

Ra’s might have planned with the intent of invoking that reaction, to put Tim more at ease with everything. That thought was one that Tim was going to leave well enough alone for a while. It did no good to question everything the man did when Tim's mental state was already hanging by a thread.

Then, three weeks post assassination attempt, in the middle of Tim’s fourth mission with the League, things suddenly went sideways again. Tim’s squad had been sent out on a supply retrieval from one of their subsidiaries, but the meetup had been ambushed by one of the supplier’s enemies. 

Blood had been drawn. The League agents, Tim included, had been forced to fight their way out. All Tim could remember thinking, after the initial realization that they were under attack, was that these people fighting so desperately beside him were here under his leadership, his command, his  _ protection _ . He didn’t want to lose anyone today.

The increasingly familiar haze had settled into his mind yet again.  _ Protect _ it seemed to say.  _ You are leader, you are Heir, you must defend them _ . And he had fought on.

He finally blinked back into awareness almost twenty minutes later with his muscles burning and a shallow slice running down his left forearm, just as their half-loaded plane was taking off into the sky. All of his assassins had made it out of the fight, only two of the ten (Tim not included) with mild to moderate injury. 

Tim chose to focus on that rather than the burning question of what exactly he had done to get them out. 

He only paid the barest attention to the following debriefing once they had returned. Luckily the rest of the group was perfectly willing to step up and explain what had gone wrong, and how they had all managed to get out with as much of the supplies as they could under the circumstances. Many of them praised Tim’s quick and strategic response. 

Ra’s had studied Tim carefully for a few moments after they finished before releasing them all, declaring that they had reacted appropriately. Tim suppressed the shiver that threatened to run through him as he met that penetrating gaze. He wondered what Ra’s was looking for, and what he had found. 

Tim decided he didn’t want to know that, either.

\---

Something shifted again, after that mission. 

This time Tim wasn’t aware of the change for almost a day after it occurred, having been herded into the medical wing of the building to treat his minor wounds. The medics had insisted that he spend the night, concerned that some of the blades could have been laced in poison. The Lazarus in his blood, according to them, occasionally meant that his body could have a delayed reaction if it assumed (incorrectly) that the occurring damage would heal on its own. The muscle strain was also enough of a pain that Tim gave in to their requests relatively easily.

As such, it was a big surprise to him that when he emerged from the sheltered wing the following morning, he was suddenly… popular?

That’s the closest interpretation he could come up with, at least. All of the formerly hovering groups had seemingly overnight decided that they liked him. He had people trailing him from task to task, offering to spar or bringing him food and drink. A couple of braver souls asked him about his reasoning behind his no-kill and protection-based morals, seeming genuinely fascinated by what he was saying. 

There was a waiting list to work with him on his missions. A  _ waiting list _ . Tim didn’t even know that mission waiting lists were a thing until now.

It was all incredibly suspicious, in his opinion. He couldn’t quite understand why there was such a sudden change in opinion. Sure there were obviously still people who clearly hated him, mostly the upper crust of the League and their favored underlings, and there was still a decent number of people who acted neutrally, but at least a fifth of the League members based in The Sanctuary were suddenly and solidly on Tim’s side. That was like… over a hundred ninja and assassins trying to hang around him whenever they had time throughout the day.

Not to mention the people contacting him from outside of Sanctuary offering him assistance if he ever needed anything from their part of the world. That was totally new. Sure he had a couple Gotham-based League acquaintances who had been feeding him information about the Bats movements for a while now, but they had reached out to him a while ago. Tim had assumed that Ra’s had set it up somehow. But all these new people, from all over the world… agents he had never interacted with… that was unexpected.

This was too weird. Tim wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t some sort of plot to catch him off guard.

Tim lasted a day and a half before he got desperate and cornered Pru during training to ask her what the deal was. She had laughed at his paranoia.

“Geezus, Timbo,” she had chuckled, not turning away from the distant target she was eyeing through a scope. “They’ve all just decided that you’re an interesting guy and have fallen for your weird vigilante charm, that’s all.”

“But why,” he had groaned, edging slightly to the side to better block the view of the watching eyes. “Why would they suddenly decide to like me like this? I haven’t done anything different. My last mission wasn’t even a real success.”

Pru had huffed at that, finally lowering the rifle and giving him an exasperated glare.

“Come on, use that big brain of yours Ghostie. Think about it from their side. At first they were all confused by you and your stubborn morals. They couldn’t figure out why Ra’s was so tolerant of your refusal to go on certain missions. Some of them hated you for it, as you are perfectly aware of. But a lot of the rest were vaguely curious about what that would look like in the field.

“Your mission yesterday was a failure overall, yeah, but you managed to get every single one of your operatives out of the ambush relatively unharmed. That almost never happens. Not to mention that this time when you slipped into Lazarus mode, instead of the usual attack-everything-that-moves instinct that most people get, you were very clearly still semi-lucid enough to specifically target the other side and act as a distraction so the squad could grab as much as they could carry and bolt,” She grinned at Tim’s rather surprised expression almost teasingly, pausing to reload her rifle before continuing.

“That sort of reaction is almost unheard of, there is very little in-between with Lazarus rage. It takes most people years to gain any sort of control. A couple of the assassins there with you had enough experience with the Pit to recognize how abnormal that strong of a protective instinct was, and from there it spread around to the rest. Suddenly everyone is fascinated by the idea of what you as a leader could mean for the League long term. A smart, kind, strangely morally pure little dude who can kick an entire ambush groups’ butts almost single handedly? Not to mention that you’re a good leader overall. Even when you aren’t trying you can be a weirdly charismatic influence with how stubbornly you stick to your code.”

She took a small step back, spreading her arms as if to further emphasize her point.

“Add all that together and viola, you are suddenly a star in the eyes of the League. Especially the younger generation.”

Tim sighed, suppressing the instinct to run a hand through his hair. There were too many people watching to act without thinking now.

“What should I be doing now, then? Just ignore them?”

“Psht, no,” Pru scoffed. “That would be a waste. As much as you might like to ignore it, the fact of the matter is that you’re now the second most powerful figure in the League, Little Heir. Even Talia is below you, especially after the fallout from Damian. So, I say use the connections you’re being offered. Build up a core group that you already are familiar with first, then let them help you filter through the others just in case there is a hidden enemy somewhere. This  _ is _ the League after all, no one is really one hundred percent trustworthy. But with so many people on your side now I doubt anyone will try anything. Just use what you have and keep being your stubborn, overly moral self. See what you can build from it. Talia has her own little loyal group inside of the League. I don’t see why you can’t build up your own.”

And with that Pru turned away from him, slid her earmuffs back down, and resumed firing. Tim took the dismissal as it was and moved back into the main training room, tangentially aware of the shadows shifting to follow him.

This change in dynamic, Tim decided, was unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. If most of these interested watchers were genuine, he had a pretty decent following. The fact that Ra’s hadn’t said or done anything to stop them yet was proof enough that he was going to let Tim deal with the situation on his own. Ra’s knew about every shift of the political climate around here. Knowing him, he was curious how Tim would handle the sudden pressure of actual leadership.

His own little League within the League, huh? Tim could work with that. He already had a couple ideas of how he could use them, even. If Tim was going to be stuck here, if he was going to lead all of these people someday, he might as well start somewhere, right?

As long as he had a couple allies, maybe things with the League wouldn’t be so bad.


	11. I Can't Let You In My Mind (I'm Too Afraid of What You'll Find)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet some new faces, catch up with Bruce and the Gotham crew on their quest to find Tim, and witness an interesting conversation or two, not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it, its finished! And this time I actually have sort of an excuse for why it took so long. Things just kept on happening this week, but I pushed through and finished this beast of a chapter regardless. (Anyone else remember when I thought 2.5k was a decent chapter length, anyone? Yeah, me neither).
> 
> As always I love seeing all of your guys's comments (even if I'm terrible at responding in a decent time frame oops). Anyways enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from Let You In by Marc Straight and Ellen Rose, and it's a pretty dang good description of Tim's mental state for anyone inclined to listen to these songs

Bruce wiped a hand tiredly over his face, forcing himself to refocus once again on the screens in front of him. He has worked through the previous night and well into the afternoon at this point, trying desperately once again to find any sort of lead as to Tim's location.

It had been approaching four months now since he had last seen his third son, almost four months since Bruce had been plucked free from the timestream and been dropped back into reality. Ever since that day, the day that he had been unceremoniously herded onto a plane and shipped back to Gotham, there had been little to no sign of Tim's whereabouts.

It had been easy enough for Bruce to backtrace the view from the windows of the plane to determine that Tim had most likely been spending the first few months with the League working out of the Cradle. That information also matched up with the information that he had managed to wrest from the various LoA agents in Gotham (who were occasionally encouraged to feed them insider information in exchange for being mostly ignored by the local vigilante population). They weren't able to tell him directly where Tim was, exactly, but they had been able to confirm the location of Ra's and the location that all of the League's agents were being called back to for a few days. Those details put together had been pretty clear.

The problem was that only days after the ceremony was supposed to take place, just as the Bats had managed to confirm the location, they received word that Ra's had suddenly packed up and moved on to a new base practically overnight and with no warning, leaving almost no indication as to which base he was heading for next. The LoA agents who had formerly been able to give them some information suddenly hushed up, either unaware or unwilling to share any more information no matter how hard the Bat’s pushed for it. 

This pattern of not-enough information and near misses repeated for months. The Bats (mainly Bruce and Oracle really, since he was on bed-rest and she excelled at this kind of long distance detective work) continuously tried to decode scraps of information to get a solid location, only to come up empty or having missed the Demon's Head and his party by a couple of days. At this point, it was very clear that they were being… played with.

Ra's knew that Bruce would be trying to track Tim, and he was intentionally trying to throw them off the trail. And, as loath as Bruce was to admit it, the immortal megalomaniac was winning.

Time passed by far too quickly. The family made the decision to formally relocate back to the Manor and the Cave, as the Penthouse and Bunker really weren’t meant for that many people at once. Tim's eighteenth birthday came and went somberly, the entire family unwilling to acknowledge the day in any significant way when the person of honor wasn't present. 365 days ago, Bruce had been dead, and Tim's seventeenth birthday had passed almost entirely unnoticed by the grieving family. This year’s July 19th brought a new swell of grief and regret for their actions when Dick and Alfred realized that no one had even said anything to Tim the previous year. Another black mark on the Batfamily’s ledger.

This had finally prompted the first of many talks that Bruce was forced to have with Dick, as it became clear that his eldest was taking way too much of the blame for Tim’s situation. There was no denying that Dick had made mistakes, sure, but so had everyone else in some way. Dick was much too quick to only see his own error, as all of his kids were, Bruce was starting to realize. The initial conversation had seemed to help a bit, but Bruce could still see the lines of tension that held them all.

Only a little over a week after that marked the one year anniversary of Tim's departure from Gotham. That day, in contrast, had served to further light the fire beneath the family's feet. The time that they had lost already was all to clear. Tim had been gone for far, far too long, and it was time to do whatever it took to rectify that.

It was easier said than done. After around a month and a half of hit and miss attempts in trying to track Tim’s location, the group had finally admitted that this strategy wasn't going to work. They weren't going to find Tim this way. It was right around that time that Bruce had finally been cleared to head back out to the streets, reclaiming the cape and cowl from an extremely over-stressed Dick who was eager to return to the Nightwing black-and-blue.

Bruce had hit the streets with a vengeance, the new Robin at his side a constant reminder of the child that was still missing. Damian was highly skilled in combat, and he had grown a lot under Dick's tutelage, but there was still an edge to the eleven year old that Bruce had no clue how to address. Each Robin, each re-imagining of Gotham's dynamic duo, worked differently together. There was always a time of adjustment as the pair learned to read each other. 

Dick was the acrobat, Jason the brawler, Tim the detective. In comparison, Damian was much more inclined towards the physical side and working with bladed weapons, something that formerly had been avoided due to the ease of accidental serious injury to their opponents. The rules around weaponry had relaxed over the months while Bruce was away due to the introduction of Damian and Jason to the roster, though both boys  _ had  _ given promises to stay nonlethal whenever possible, so Bruce decided to let it go for now.

After years of being the head of the Gotham caped crew, Bruce was now finding himself playing catch-up with the ever changing dynamic of the city. Before Darkseid, Bruce had held an uncontested grip around the Gotham underground, he had been intimately familiar with every shift of power, every change in territory, every attempt to gain power. The Rogues had respected his strength, the gangs had dreaded his involvement. Fear had been his ally.

So much changed in a year. The rumors of Batman’s demise had been enough to cause the Bats’ hold on the city to slip, crime rates spiking enough that Dick had been forced to take on the cowl whether he wanted to or not just to keep some semblance of control. Old enemies had fallen, new ones rising to take their place. The number of vigilantes in Gotham had grown, patrol routes had shifted, technology had been updated.

Bruce had done the best he could to catch up on everything before returning to the streets, but the first few weeks of reintegrating with the city and learning to work alongside Damian and the others had been a sharp learning curve. But he was Batman, and Gotham was his city. Before long the rumors of the original Bat’s return were rampant throughout the underworld, and for the first time in a year Gotham’s vigilante’s were doing more than just holding the line.

Still, Bruce’s attention was largely occupied by that missing piece, the boy trapped among enemies. 

His first week back in the cowl had given Bruce an opportunity to follow up on one of the few leads that Dick had discovered early on, one of the few people Tim’s stilted information drop had named that Batman could easily contact- Tamara Fox. So, three days into the return of the original Batman, the dynamic duo had dropped by her apartment.

That conversation had been frustratingly uninformative. Tam had corroborated Tim’s story of how she found Tim in uniform and bleeding out in a hotel room, only to be whisked away by the League of Assassins. Tam had been given little opportunity to interact with Tim over the weeks she was held, and she had been almost exclusively locked in a single guest room. Through their few interactions, Tam had observed Tim as mostly maintaining a false calm, which slipped only a few times to show a deeper instability. Whether the mask was an attempt to ease her fears or something he kept up full time was unclear to the young woman. 

Most of this, Bruce had gathered himself from Tim’s stilted attempt at an update and his own research.

Unfortunately the main question Bruce had, about what exactly happened with the Council of Spiders, was the one thing that Tam had refused to discuss with anyone. She was just as evasive about the questioning as Tim was, but with her there was an edge of fear to the refusal. Whatever had happened, it had scared her and numbed Tim. The part of Bruce that was Batman longed to push her for answers anyways, and Robin was certainly eager to do so as well, but Bruce made the decision to not force the issue. This information wouldn’t do anything to help locate Tim, merely staunch Bruce’s curiosity about the incident.

Of course, it also meant that at the end of the day Bruce was still at square one.

The following months hadn’t been any better. All of the Bat’s and JLA’s resources had finally lost track of Ra’s location, the various moves and rumors the man initiated serving their purpose to muddle his travels and allow him to drop off the map. Nothing new popped up for months afterwards. Ra’s had obviously found an ideal place to lay low, and he was apparently planning to hold position for as long as it took.

Talia, in comparison, was very easy to track down, and surprisingly willing to speak to Bruce as long as he agreed to bring Damian along with him. Dick had joined in for that conversation as well, concerned that Talia could make a move to retrieve the boy, and the others chose to stay and defend Gotham in their absence. Unfortunately, that lead had been just as much of a bust as the others. Talia had been all but cut off from her father and the majority of the League for almost a year at that point, the timing suspiciously close to when Ra’s would have started narrowing in on his attempts to recruit Tim. She had been intentionally kept away from the situation. At this point, she knew even less about what Ra’s was doing than Bruce did. 

Damian’s subtle but nonetheless obvious glee over getting to talk to his mother had tempered Bruce’s disappointment a bit, but the growing frustration was still there as Bruce laid awake that night, lost in the memories of that small blue-eyed boy.

A month or so after Bruce’s return to the streets had brought the first rumors of the Demon’s Heir, Ghost, having appeared in the field. The information about those brief appearances were muddled and always outdated, never any help in the attempts to track the boy they were almost certain they spoke of. They couldn’t find him.

The rumors were the only assurance that anyone had that Tim was even still  _ alive _ . Yet another horrible thought to keep Bruce awake night after night, scouring for information that refused to show itself.

All the desperation, all the failure, lead Bruce to where he was now, nearly four months since seeing Tim. He could feel himself slipping a bit further each day, clawing for every scrap of information no matter how insignificant. He knew that his children, his Gotham partners, and his friends in the JLA who knew the full situation were all increasingly worried about his health. But Bruce didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t just  _ abandon _ Tim. He had to find him, no matter what it took.

Bruce knew that he was approaching 48 hours of no sleep at this point, and he knew that by later this evening Alfred would no doubt be slipping a light sedative into his tea rather than let Bruce go out on patrol. He knew that he couldn’t keep doing this to his surrogate father, to his family, but he didn’t know any other way to deal with the desperation that built up in his veins and left him buzzing, unable to sleep. He just  _ knew _ there had to be something they were missing.

The incoming call notification startled Bruce out of his wandering thoughts, enough that it took him a moment to process the name and logo of the person asking to open a line to the Batcave. He frowned at the name, glancing quickly at the time before moving to accept the call. It was only 1am in Hong Kong, much earlier than Cassandra usually called them. 

She had been checking in regularly ever since Bruce’s return, furiously working through all her remaining cases halfway across the world so that she could return to Gotham and be with the family. Typically her calls came in much later than this, and through her civilian phone rather than Black Bat’s Comm line. Cass was supposed to be investigating an up-and-coming gang’s activities tonight, and she would never endanger blowing a stakeout with idle conversation. It was out of the ordinary enough to make Bruce instantly worried.

As it was, Bruce only had a moment to recognize that Cass was sending video feed from her domino as well as the typical audio before the image took over the main screen. Bruce’s breath caught in his throat.

It was Tim. Tim was in Hong Kong.

The lower half of his pale face was covered with a black mask, his uniform was slightly different than when Bruce last saw him, his hair was shorter and his eyes were leaning more green than blue at the moment, but it was very clearly Tim's small frame standing across a rooftop from Black Bat.

From behind Bruce, there was a stumbling thud and gasp as his oldest two children noticed the video feed and rushed over from the mats to stand behind their father to get a better look. A small corner of Bruce’s mind remembered that they had come down to the Cave to spar a few minutes prior, taking advantage of the rest of the family being busy, but at the moment he was much too distracted to think about whether or not they should be here to see whatever confrontation was about to go down.

For Bruce, getting a clear image of his third son was like finally getting a breath of fresh air after months of slowly drowning. It was pure relief, despite the obvious tension.

“Tim,” Cass says moments after they were connected. She had likely been waiting until she knew they were watching and recording the interaction before proceeding. “Tim-bird, little brother. What are you doing here?”

Tim’s shoulders were stiff, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden and unexpected interaction with a family member. They all watched his expressions, noticing the small jump at Cass’s voice, the furrow of brows at the nickname and family title, the small glance back at the dark-clad figures that stood stock-still behind him. Tim was extremely on edge, nervous, maybe scared.

Somewhere to Bruce’s left, Jason let out a huff of air when Tim’s eyes flashed momentarily to a brighter green before he settled back behind his carefully blank outward persona. For his children, this was the first visual proof they would have seen to confirm Bruce's story besides the scraps of information that had been gathered about Tim’s whereabouts.

“Black Bat,” Tim said flatly, seeming to regain a bit of control over the situation as his back pulled impossibly straighter, chin tilting up and face carefully blank. 

He glanced back at the gathered ninja once again, the eight or so operatives still stood frozen, waiting for orders on how to proceed. Through the slight pixelation of the camera feed, Bruce could practically feel Tim’s mind calculating out the options. Finally, he flicked his left hand back, a tiny movement away from Cass and towards the edge of the roof behind them. The ninja immediately took the silent order and melted away into the shadows.

Tim moved, suddenly, a darting flurry of steps to the side before he threw himself over the edge of the building and fired his grapple seamlessly, flying off into the night with aching familiarity. Cass turned her head away for a split second, back towards where the ninja disappeared to, but there was no hesitation as she threw herself after the distant green flicker of Tim’s cape, already on the next rooftop over.

As much as Bruce normally would encourage going after the larger group of enemies, he couldn’t deny that Tim was the obvious focal point here. 

In the momentary respite as Cass moved to follow Tim, Bruce forced himself to check in on the two young adults who stood on either side of him. 

Dick’s eyes were wide, body almost as tense as Tim’s was as he watched his younger brother's movements through the camera lens, as though the situation was hitting him again now that he could see the changes that had been wrought on Tim. If Bruce didn’t already know that Dick would absolutely refuse, he would have been attempting to get his eldest to leave rather than hurt himself further by watching this exchange more-or-less firsthand. 

Jason’s eyes were likewise locked onto Tim’s retreating form, gaze analytical and focused rather than horrified. He was the one most likely to understand where Tim was mentally, though Bruce wasn’t sure yet whether or not Jason’s own still-fragile mental health was worth the advantage. For now he seemed alright, and he was even less likely to obey an order to leave than Dick was, so Bruce let him be.

“He’s in deeper than I thought,” Jason breathed out tersely, drawing the eyes of the other two men. On the screen, the view tipped quickly up and down as Cass nodded.

“Tim is… scattered. Himself but not. Two conflicting instincts- trust or fight me. Makes him hard for me to read.”

Bruce and Dick blinked in surprise at the assessment, since Cass was rarely fooled by body language, but Jason just nodded like it made sense.

“His mind was, to begin with, a lot more structured and in control than mine. I was naturally much more inclined to lose control of myself when upset, that’s what let the Pit take over so completely. For Tim, it seems like the two exist largely side by side rather than one or the other. Instead of taking over, it’s integrating.” Jason frowned, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “It’s probably harder for him to feel the influence. Overall he has more control, but it’s way harder to isolate out the thoughts that aren’t entirely his. That’s probably making it easier for Ra’s to control him…”

The armrest of the chair squeaked as Dick’s hand tightened. Bruce felt faintly sick.

“Fighting with himself,” Cass agreed. “Dual instincts, close but not quite. Unsure which is real Tim.” There was a pause, punctuated by another firing of Cass’s grapple, before she suddenly announced, “Stopping.” 

She twisted herself to the side and rolled to a stop only a couple buildings down from where the confrontation started. Sure enough, once the camera focused again it was clear that Tim had paused as well. 

The mask covering the lower half of his face had been pulled down, revealing that his mouth was flattened into a tense line. His eyes were still that striking blue-green, ever so slightly brighter than they should be in the light from the surrounding buildings. He watched Cass carefully as she straightened upright, stepping back automatically when she went to move closer. In response Cass stopped where she was, holding her hands up high enough to hover at the edges of the camera in order to placate the obviously jumpy teenager.

“Tim, it is safe. I will not hurt you. Family misses you.” Tim breathed out a harsh exhale at Cass’s words, mask breaking just enough to allow him to run a hand jerkily through his hair. 

It was a stress tick. Bruce wished so badly that he could hug him right now.

“The family misses me?” Tim asked, almost incredulously. “Are we talking about the same people here? Because from where I’m standing they seem perfectly happy to have kicked me out and left me with the League. They don’t  _ want _ me, BB. They’ve all made that abundantly clear.”

“So that's the battleground,” Jason muttered under his breath. Dick’s hand found Bruce’s and clamped down. The bones in Bruce’s hand complained about the sudden pressure almost as much as his teeth did due to how tense his jaw suddenly was.

“Not left,” Cass tried, lens camera centered dead onto Tim’s face. “Very worried. Always looking, me and them. Trying to find you but not enough clues.”

“Not enough clues?” Tim scoffed. “I’ve been on eight missions over the past two-and-a-half months, and this is the first time I’ve seen any indication of vigilante activity. I know for a fact that Bruce is all healed up and back on the streets, and yet there’s been no sign of anyone from the JLA targeting the League, let alone the Bats. You think I can’t get the picture?  _ Hell _ , this entire time it’s not like I’ve hardly even left-”

Tim cut off his rant all at once as the faint crackle of a Comm link just barely picked up on Cass’s audio receivers. Across the roof, Tim straightened up impossibly straighter, eyes widening in surprise with a flash of green.

“Ra’s, what-” Tim started, and Cass likewise tensed at the name, as did the three watching from halfway across the world. 

“ _ Ra’s _ ,” Dick practically growled, hand tightening ever so slightly further over Bruce’s. Jason actually did growl, a low, angry sound deep in his chest as he watched the suddenly clearer emotions flying across Tim’s face with rapid attention. Bruce was likewise ensnared by the sudden shift in attitude as Ra's spoke to Tim.

“No, there’s no need. I have everything under control, I-,” A louder sound suddenly came from Tim’s Comm, just a small, black device barely visible in his ear from this distance. The furious tone was clear enough even without being able to make out the words. 

Tim flinched at the noise, his whole body locking up and eyes flashing an even brighter green that had Bruce’s chest tightening painfully as he watched, helpless to intervene as Tim’s body just… went slack, bleeding out the former tension, giving in without any further fight.

“Alright, Master,” he said, so tonelessly and in a way that was so  _ not  _ Tim that Bruce was now the one flinching. Dick let out a low noise somewhere between a sob and a moan and Jason’s body had gone  _ tense _ , likely fighting back the urge to lash out fruitlessly at the screen.

Half a world away, Cass moved urgently at the sudden shift in body language, probably more aware than anyone else as to how far things had just spiraled out of control. It was suddenly vital for her to get to Tim, whether he wanted her to or not.

The explosion a couple of buildings away was enough to draw Cass’s attention from Tim. Her gaze snapped away from him and towards the sudden inferno as she skidded to a halt with atypical clumsiness in surprise, still a couple of feet away from him. Bruce, Dick, and Jason watched the flames rise in mute shock.

That was the building that they had been standing on earlier, Bruce realized through the surprise. The one that Tim’s ninja had likely slipped into. If he had to guess, it was also the base of the group that Cass had been monitoring. Had they done something to draw the Demon Head’s wrath? Was blowing up the building always the intended mission?

From Tim’s stricken expression when Cass glanced back towards him, it was clear that this was  _ not _ the plan Tim had been given. His eyes, notably less green now, were locked on the blaze with a distant horror.

“There’s no way they had time to clear the building,” he muttered, barely loud enough to be picked up on the mic over the crackling flames, collapsing building, and distant sirens. “This wasn’t… I didn’t…” 

His eyes flicked between Cass and the distant fire anxiously. His Comm again crackled to life, this time with multiple tones, multiple voices overlapping. Tim’s face twisted in frustration.

“ _ Damn it _ , fine! Fall back to Rendezvous,” Tim barks back. He moves quickly to once again pull his grapple free from his belt, turning ever so slightly towards the edge of the building.

“The League is pulling him back,” Jason realized, just before the other Bat’s did. 

“You can’t let him leave!” Dick snapped, obviously panicking.

“Tim!” Cass cries out at the same time. “Stay! Come back!” Tim glanced back, expression resigned and vaguely pained.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked with a rue smile, “I can’t.”

Suddenly the rooftop exploded with movement. Black Bat shot forward as Tim spun and fired his grapple. A split second later the crunch of gravel had Cass spinning around just in time to knock away a blade before it sliced through her armor. The ninja it belonged to had managed to sneak up behind her when she was distracted. Already, the black-clad person (a woman based on the quick visual Bruce had) was retreating again, throwing herself off of the building from where she had come. 

The reason why was clear once Cass had spun around again. Tim was already merely a flicker of green cape in the distance, somehow having managed to clear nearly three buildings in the short timespan that Cass had been distracted. Naturally, Cass pulled out her grapple in order to follow him.

But just as she reached the edge of the roof, just as her finger settled over the trigger, the burning building let out a shuddering groan as more supports gave way, the skyscraper tilting dangerously over the street as the fire roared and people screamed and sirens shrilled. Cass froze, head tilting between the distantly retreating League members and the blaze, every small movement dripping in indecision.

People needed help, right here and right now. There was no guarantee that she could catch up to Tim. But Tim…

Bruce clenched his free hand (the one not in Dick’s death grip) into the armrest of the chair and made the decision for her. “Go help evacuate people, BB. We’ll have to figure out another opportunity with more allies present.” 

Cass responded instantly to the command, turning her body towards the blaze and firing.

“Understood,” she said, all the overwhelming emotion from only a few moments prior pushed away in face of the current emergency. “I will call back after, the normal way.”

And with that, Cass cut the feed. The screen cut to black, then automatically pulled up the file for the database’s recording of the call. The video file’s thumbnail was a snapshot of Tim.

Dick’s knees buckled all at once, like someone had just cut the cables holding him upright. The frustrated tears in his eyes were already hitting the ground as he curled in on himself, letting out a grief stricken wail in light of the failure. Somewhere on Bruce’s other side, Jason finally gave into the urge to hit something, and a pile of still unpacked boxes tumbled to the floor in harmony with Dick’s cries. 

Vaguely, Bruce was aware of the sounds finally attracting Alfred down to the Cave from wherever he had been cleaning upstairs, and of his sons’ stilted attempts to explain what had just happened, but nothing of his surroundings could really process.

Bruce just stared unseeingly at the screen, at the frozen snapshot of his lost son, and he despaired.

\---

Another week passed, another week with no news of Tim beyond the barest rumors that surrounded the Demon’s Head and his Heir. The residents of the Manor, as a whole, got even less sleep than they had previously, everyone once again pushed to the edge by their own internal dilemma’s and the tension brought by others. Patrols grew quieter, actions more restrained. The smallest comments could break out into arguments, words thrown across a room until both parties stormed off or were forced apart, only for the reasoning behind the disagreement to be brushed aside without comment mere hours later.

They were all falling apart at the seams.

Bruce did his best to talk to everyone, to ease as much of the pressure off of their shoulders as he could, but it was an uphill battle. 

Alfred had taken to his task of refurbishing the Manor with much vigor and a noticeable edge of mania for those who knew him well. When forced away from cleaning, he retreated to the kitchen and fell into his more typical stress relief of cooking. This then shifted into him coercing the current residents of the Manor into eating said food, and occasionally he stepped in to force one or more of them to sleep as well. 

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure when Alfred was sleeping himself, and yet the butler continued to be the most put together of them all in appearance and emotions. Bruce appreciated the steadiness his father figure brought to his life, but made an effort to not rely on him too greatly. There were already more than enough things for Alfred to keep track of.

Dick seemed to be oscillating between drowning himself in guilt around the Manor by day and throwing himself into work on patrol at night, having long ago taken an extended leave of absence from the BPD. Damian, when not at school, typically followed Dick throughout the house, whether that meant talking, watching a movie, playing some sort of game, or silently working on different activities side by side. The pair also patrolled together a couple times a week, and Bruce could never bring himself to disagree that Robin should be with Batman whenever the request was made. 

The two of them had grown close in their year together, working together fluidly in a way Bruce couldn’t yet match with Damian. There was still too much uncertainty between them, too much of a question about what the father and son duo expected from each other as both family and partners. Bruce wasn’t entirely sure how to address his youngest, especially with the presence of the next eldest hanging between them, stretching to impact both Damian’s past and present lives. Bruce didn’t know how to address the realization that the majority of the League of Assassins had lost any interest in bringing Damian back into the fold to reclaim his birthright. 

If Dick decided that he needed Damian to help him stay focused on someone other than Tim, and if Damian felt more comfortable with his eldest brother, Bruce had no urge to separate the two.

(He furiously pushed aside any straying thoughts that attempted to make an unconscious comparison to a relationship between Dick and another young, dark haired boy. He could worry about how to fix that relationship once their current problem was solved.)

Jason was a bit of a wild card, as the boy was still prone to slipping into Lazarus-fueled rage when least expected, though those episodes were steadily decreasing in frequency over time. The obvious difference in Jason’s personality now that the anger had cooled and the family was there to help temper the flare-ups had Bruce deeply regretting his actions towards Jason in the early days of Jason's return to Gotham as Red Hood. He should have had more trust in his second son.

Of course, Jason wasn’t all the same, either. The maintenance of his moniker and the insistence on using firearms were a clear enough divide between the Jason-that-was-Robin and the Jason of now. If Bruce hadn’t had other things to hold his focus upon his return, he might have resisted and resented the changes on principle… but looking back over the months he's been back Bruce was very glad that he had held back the remarks. It wouldn’t have done any good to push Jason away just when he was starting to return to the family. Letting him use guns was a small price to pay, especially when those guns were mostly retrofitted to shoot rubber bullets these days.

As it turned out, Jason had also turned into one of the most active members of the family in the search for Tim. Having experienced the struggle with the Pit and the manipulation of the League himself, Bruce’s second oldest was dead set on getting Tim out ASAP, and he also presented a rare resource with his firsthand knowledge of how the Pit worked to alter a person’s perceptions of the world. He didn’t flinch away from the realities of the situation, though Bruce did suspect that he held back more information than he let on. Bruce tried not to push, choosing to trust that Jason wouldn’t hold important information back rather than risk pushing the boy away again.

Besides Damian and Bruce himself, Jason also had the most resources within the League, and he wasn’t afraid to try and use them if they were deemed potentially useful. To everyone's frustration, they rarely were.

Stephanie and Barbara were periphery figures around the Manor, since neither had direct ties to the family and both had duties outside of vigilante work in a way that none of the Waynes currently did. Stephanie was a full time student at Gotham U these days, aiming to work through pre-Med with the intent of getting into the nursing program in a few years, all under her long-promised WE scholarship. 

When given the opportunity to patrol, Batgirl typically worked out of the Clocktower, taking advantage of Oracle’s information network to run her own missions, occasionally partnering with the other Bats or the Birds of Prey. She was often the one filling in for one or more of the other Bats on patrol when they broke off to follow a lead on the League, eager to help the search however she could. Bruce could sense the layer of guilt that she carried for not believing in Tim’s claims from the beginning. Much like with Damian, Bruce was uncertain how to address those lingering feelings. After a short conversation with Alfred about the dilemma, Bruce decided to leave Stephanie to Babs, trusting that the pair’s mentor-student connection would be much more beneficial than anything Bruce could attempt.

Barbara, for her part, was similarly busy by day, working with Gotham Library and running her own technology consultant business on the side. She had a long-standing offer to work at Wayne Enterprises, of course, but Babs had always valued her independence from the other Gotham vigilantes, and that independence apparently reached into civilian life as well. By night, Oracle was just as crucial as ever, working out of the Clocktower to pass information to the Birds, Bats, and the occasional JLA member who requested support.

She had never stopped looking for Tim, having been the one monitoring his progress for the first months in his time abroad and, therefore, having been the first to note when “Red Robin” had dropped entirely off the map. They knew now that this was likely when Tim was officially picked up by the League. She was almost as frustrated as Bruce by the continued failure to turn up any information, even with a significant chunk of her system and the Batcomputer running background processes to search data worldwide for certain key terms or hidden League files. The vast majority of the information that they had uncovered was due to these programs.

Cassandra Wayne makes her grand return to Gotham city approximately sixty-five hours after her run-in with Tim, attracting the media’s attention as only a long-absent child of Bruce Wayne could. Bruce, along with most of the family (the ones who were present, known to the public, and legally alive), met her at the airport, intent on shielding her as well as they could from questions about her year working in Hong Kong and her still-missing brother, now the last Wayne unaccounted for. 

Bruce got his own share of bothering as well, since he had mostly avoided the public eye since his return, claiming to have contracted an non-contagious but tricky illness during his travels abroad. Revealing himself to the media again now would undoubtedly lead to questions about when we planned to retake control of WE from Lucius, Bruce knew, but Alfred had insisted that Bruce couldn’t stay shut away from the wider world for much longer before he started to draw suspicion. Bruce had given in with little argument, remembering his promise to himself to reduce the Englishman’s stress and knowing that his father-figure was rarely wrong with such intuitions.

Cass settled back into the manor seamlessly, planning to take the next two weeks off of vigilante work in order to reduce correlation between her two identities and to give herself time to readjust to the time zone and living at home in general. She was relieved to be reunited with her family, but also notably withdrawn after the infamous Tim encounter. She was apparently not exempt from the family guilt complex, but she was also capable of channeling those feelings into work. Cass floated between family members, both at the Manor and the Clocktower, checking in regularly with everyone and filling in part of the gap that was threatening to suck them all in.

Of course, they all knew what that final missing piece was, the center of their struggle. For the first time in years, almost the entire extended Bat family was back in Gotham and working side by side to recover their last, still-missing member.

(“I can’t,” he had said. Why couldn’t he come home? What was Ra’s doing to him?)

And Bruce? He was just left doing whatever he could, day by day, to bring his son home. Despite his reservations that extreme, ill-prepared action would only lead to Ra’s pulling Tim even further underground, Bruce was quickly approaching a point where he thought calling in all his allies and raiding every League base they had on record might be his only option.

They just needed one slip up, one weakness in the League’s information chain that they could exploit to get Tim’s exact location. Without that, their chances were bleak, and growing dimmer by the day.

\---

The break that the Bats were looking for came eleven days after Cass and Tim’s conversation.

All of the Bats were gathered in the cave, in uniform, for the weekly strategy and information exchange meeting at the end of the night’s patrol, with Oracle and the Birds keeping an eye on Gotham. Cass had even donned her uniform as well despite not yet returning to active duty, intending to join Dick and Jason’s sparring session afterwards.

That plan was derailed when the Computer’s proximity alarm started blaring halfway through the meeting. Bruce bolted the short distance to the screen, scanning the system to try and pinpoint what had triggered the alarms. Something at near supersonic speed had just passed into Gotham’s airspace. As everyone gathered behind him, peering at the screen, the Manor’s own, more sensitive perimeter was breached. 

This time, the cause of the alarm turned up on the motion-activated high-speed cameras.

Bruce barely had time to process what he saw on the image before a red-and-black blur slammed to a halt a mere ten feet from the gathered group, cracking the cave floors with the force of it. Behind him, the external Cave entrance finished opening with a muted clang. In the following shocked silence as the assembled Bats whirled around, the alarms went off again, signaling the arrival of two others, one a blur of gold and red and blue, the other signaled by a flash of red hair and yellow lightning.

Conner Kent, Kon-El, the once-dead Superboy, scanned the group of Bats with half-concealed anger as Wonder Girl and-  _ was that Impulse? _ \- fell into position behind him, looking a mix of mildly concerned to nervous in face of the coming confrontation.

“What the hell did you guys do to Tim,” Superboy snapped, the anxiety in his voice undermining some of the anger there, “and why the  _ fuck  _ is he staying with Lex Luthor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm I wonder how that conversation is going to work out. 
> 
> (Also feel free to drop me some ninja and/or assassin names, I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to need them in the future, definitely by the "Arc 2" fic. I figure I'd offer it if anyone wants to contribute).
> 
> Until next time!


	12. Caught Up in a Rush (It's Killing You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about what Tim is doing with Luthor, the Bats and Titans stage a rescue mission, and many conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dr. Strange voice*: "We're in the endgame now..."
> 
> I keep thinking that the next chapter couldn't possibly be longer than the last... and yet here I am again. I have no regrets. I hope you all enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it, and as always thank you for all the amazing comments and kudos! You are all amazing <3
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from The Other Side of Paradise by Glass Animals

**6 Days Previously**

Tim blinked in surprise at the dark-clad ninja in front of him before nodding and moving across the room to comply with the summons, studiously ignoring the gazes of the others in the room that ranged from everywhere between curious and mildly alarmed. No one, not even Pru or Tim’s other close allies, made a move to stop him, though. They all knew that a summons by the Demon’s Head was not to be ignored.

Things had been tense around Sanctuary, ever since Tim’s mission had gone so awry five days ago. In all of his time with the League, Tim had never seen Ra’s so angry as he was during the debriefing. He claimed that it was just because Tim had been resistant and didn’t comply immediately with orders, that it was because Tim had been so belligerent towards Ra’s about how the man had taken control of the mission and ordered the potential ally’s building destroyed when the situation had changed. Ra’s claimed that Tim was growing cocky, and that he needed to remember who was really in charge here, that no matter how much sway Tim’s position in the League gave him Ra’s was always higher, and that Tim needed to remember that.

Tim suspected that Ra’s was actually scared that the unexpected Bat encounter would make Tim start questioning his decisions again, that it could allow Ra’s control over him slip ever so much just as things were starting to settle into place.

Ghost took his punishment day confined to his room, and was just thankful that Ra’s had held on to his understanding-father facade enough that it wasn’t anything worse.

The following days were thick with tension as the League waited for one of the two major players to make a move. Ra’s and Tim orbited around each other without ever crossing paths as they attended to duties or trained respectively. Both of them had too many allies keeping watch around the base to accidentally run into one another, though Ra’s seemed to be doing most of the work to keep that distance. It was an intentional shun on his part, holding Tim at arm's length until he decided what to do.

Those who disliked Tim or were undecided stayed clear, intent on not getting caught in the crosshairs if Ra’s decided to crack down on Tim further. Comparatively, those on Tim’s side, a core of five higher ranked assassins (including Pru) who worked as his lieutenants and the network of people below them, seemed to rally around him in face of the feared backlash. Tim still wasn’t entirely sure why so many people had decided to bet on him in the battle of wills, but he appreciated the allies nonetheless. 

The truth was… Ra’s was probably right to be concerned. Maybe just a little bit. The run-in with Cass had been quite the wake-up call for Tim. Seeing the building go up in flames, knowing that there were still people inside, had been a startling reminder of who Ra’s was. Tim had been growing far too complacent with the League. He knew who they were, no matter how much he tried to encourage otherwise. No matter how far he could feel himself slipping, no matter how many times he lost himself to that haze where doubt and fear fell away and he could just  _ act _ , Tim couldn’t let himself give in altogether.

As far as the things Cass said was concerned… Tim wasn’t so sure. Thinking about the words too closely continued to just throw his mind back into a litany of  _ nonoliesnobetrayalallofthem  _ that never failed to make his head hurt. 

So Tim just didn’t think about it.

He threw himself into more training, more researching, more networking with his developing alliance of League members that were tired of killing. He barreled through the days in the aftermath with almost reckless abandon, finally collapsing into bed each night with straining muscles and a worn mind, too deeply tired to dream. It wasn’t… healthy, maybe, but it was all he could do to not collapse in on himself. If he stayed busy, he couldn’t think about everything that had happened to get him to this point, and that was enough.

But now, after days of nothing, the Demon was summoning his Heir once again.

Tim could feel the many eyes of the League following him throughout the short journey to the throne room. The guards at the doors opened quickly at the sight of the courtier and Tim, though Tim was ushered in alone. The ornate doors were closed behind him with a heavy bang.

The room wasn’t entirely empty, as it never was. Many ninja lined the walls, concealed in the shadows, but Tim paid them no mind, all too aware that he was walking a tightrope here. He walked purposefully through the room to halt at the steps below Ra’s and he knelt without prompting. He didn’t try to meet Ra’s eyes.

There was a tense minute of silence. Tim didn’t dare indicate impatience or nerves, he didn’t shift from his vulnerable position. It felt like he hardly breathed.

Finally, Ra’s initiated the conversation.

“Ah, Ghost, my beloved Heir. I’m sorry that we haven’t seen each other more over the past few days. I assume all is well?”

The platitudes were fake, a blatant attempt to get Tim to open up more. The choice of name was an intentional move to distance the two of them, force Tim into a role as Ra’s soldier rather than his… trainee? Apprentice? Pseudo-son? Tim followed the unstated order to stay professional.

“I am well, Master. I have used the short break from missions in order to continue my education and get to know more of the League.”

“Good, good…” Ra’s drew out the words a bit. He didn’t sound particularly angry anymore, so Tim dared to tip his head up and finally got a good look at the immortal. His cutting green eyes were focused on Tim, and he gave a small, barbed smile at Tim’s small show of boldness. Tim held back the automatic shiver at the predatory expression. “Then, young one, I expect that you have had time to reflect on our previous discussion, no? What do you have to say for yourself?”

And  _ oh. _ Tim had to play this carefully. This was Ra’s testing him, to see where his loyalties lie in the wake of everything. He was looking for signs that Tim would betray him. Tim let his eyes flick down, a show of subtle submission.

“Yes, I did. I still cannot say that I agree with the method of distraction, but I can’t deny that something was needed if we were going to be able to escape once Black Bat arrived. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time, I wasn’t prepared to see any of… the Bats for a while yet. You were right to take over when it became clear that my thinking was compromised. You were right to remind me that you are ultimately the one in charge here. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Tim looked up again, trying to convey sincerity. Ra’s assessed his face for a moment, expressionless. Tim held his breath, trying to resist reaching for his sword in the tense silence that followed. After a few seconds that felt like years to Tim, Ra’s blinked and relaxed his shoulders ever so slightly, though the atypical distance between them stayed.

“In that case, Ghost, you can use your next mission as a means to prove your loyalty,” Ra’s announced with false sweetness. Tim’s head was starting to hurt with all the layers of acting they were both piling on throughout this conversation. As such, his surprise was likely poorly masked.

“A new mission?”

“Yes, a bit different than your usual, but certainly within your skill set. Though it’s a bit more long-term than your previous assignments.” 

“Alright, I can work with that. What’s the assignment, Master?” Tim questioned hesitantly.

“Lex Luthor,” Ra’s pronounced carefully, the name lined with a hint of contempt, “has recently contacted the League to request extra forces to provide security at one of his facilities. When pushed for more details, all he would reveal is that the facility in question is one of his more secret laboratories, located somewhere in Alaska. He is seeking backup due to the increased pressure the Justice League has been exerting on known criminals ever since the Batman’s return. He apparently has a new line of research he doesn’t want found out.”

Ra’s eyes meet Tim’s again, and the intensity there is striking. 

“You and a team of ninja will be assigned to him as the requested backup, a show of goodwill in hopes of future alliance. While there you will follow his orders, unless they happen to conflict with any of mine of course. You will keep your Comm active at all times.” Ra’s leaned forward a bit, ensuring Tim’s focus.

“Your secondary mission will be to gain access to Luthor’s information system without him realizing, so that we can decipher what this research entails and whether or not we should allow it to continue. Depending on what is discovered, there may be additional steps to take in response. Understood?”

Tim did understand. This is another test of loyalty. Ra’s no doubt knows of Tim’s past interactions with Luthor, most of them with the Titans, and a couple of them because of… Kon. He’s testing to see how well Tim holds up behind enemy lines, whether he follows orders or tries to make a break for it once he is relatively out from under Ra’s thumb and as close as he has ever been to Gotham. The Comm is for both relaying information and keeping a close eye on his movements. It’s a guise at freedom, but that’s all it is. And should Tim be discovered when stealing information from Luthor… he was under no illusion that Ra’s would throw him under the bus, and  _ maybe _ retrieve his body later and revive him again. Neither of those outcomes would be pleasant. Tim would have to succeed.

“I understand, Master. How many agents will I be bringing? I can start assembling them at once.”

“Ah, not to worry Ghost. I have taken the liberty of selecting approximately one hundred experienced ninja for this mission ahead of time. I believe you will find them all well suited to the task.”

Translation? Ra’s has hand picked people who aren’t on Tim’s side. They will cooperate for the mission's sake, but aren’t really his allies. There will be no wiggle room but to comply with each order. Inwardly Tim seethed at yet another layer of complication to work through. The mission would have been hard enough with a familiar group alongside him. Tim was backed into a corner once again.

“Alright Master,” Ghost agreed, ever the dutiful follower. “When do we leave?”

\---

**Present day**

The discussion that followed the Titan’s arrival to the Batcave was fast paced and brutal. The Titans wanted to know what was going on with Tim, and were (understandably) rather upset by the answers they received. The Bats wanted to know how Superboy and Impulse were alive, and were (understandably) starting to get over the shock period of people coming back from the dead after the last few years they’ve had. They all wanted to retrieve Tim as soon as possible, but lacked the ability to deescalate the situation enough to discuss things calmly and work together. It took a few pointed comments from Alfred before everyone managed to settle down and talk things through properly.

Then the details of Tim’s location finally started to come together. Luthor’s secret facility in question was located within the northern interior region of Alaska, hidden away from all of the major cities, deep in the mountains. The compound itself had been discovered by the JLA’s satellites a few years prior, but it seemed small enough that none of the hero’s had opted to go and fight the weather and wilderness to investigate.

Based off of the details that Superboy and a more thorough satellite scan were now revealing, that decision was likely a mistake. While on the surface the compound only appeared to be made up of a few battered warehouses and office buildings spread loosely over around five square miles, there was actually a rather extensive underground network of research labs and who knows what else. 

Superboy couldn’t  _ see  _ much of what was happening on any of the underground floors and a couple of the exterior buildings as well. The lead lining around the facility’s walls was thorough in a way that only a somewhat paranoid billionaire who regularly had to ward off Kryptonians would bother with. However, many people forgot to address the fact that a Kryptonian’s hearing was not fooled by the same trick. The most of the underground floors of the facility seemed to have anti-super white noise generators installed, but they didn’t cover everywhere. Kon-El had managed to catch Tim’s voice when he passed through one of the weaker zones, and that had been enough for him to hone in on the location.

The satellites Bruce was able to gain control of in the area were able to give a better idea of the layout of the facility, or at least the blueprints for the above ground compound and first six or so sublevel floors. From what Superboy could tell, the full facility had anywhere from ten to fifteen sublevels, though the distance, lead, and white noise made it hard for him to get details. The group would have to get much closer before they could get more accurate scans on layout or the number of enemies the base held.

After that a rough plan formed quickly. Everyone had been in uniform from the beginning, so fight preparation was just a matter of restocking on supplies after the first half of the night on the streets. The BatJet was pulled out of storage and had diagnostics run at lightning speed, everyone glad that it didn’t require any fueling. The base also didn’t seem to have enough tech above ground to disrupt the BatJet’s cloaking technology, which made the surprise attack much more feasible.

The Titans agreed, after a bit of back and forth, to stay with the Bats on the Jet until they arrived, so that they would all hit at once with the element of surprise. They were still upset, especially Kon-El, but they also seemed to understand that no one was happy with how things with Tim had degraded, and they were just as eager to get the rescue mission right the first time, while they still had the element of surprise that was Superboy and Impulse. 

Most of the JLA were currently tied up in one mission or another around the world. There was no time to wait for them. As soon as Kon and Bart were discovered to be alive, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Tim would be shuttled off to an even more secure facility. They might only have the one shot at this.

Kon-El also somewhat grudgingly accepted to arm himself with the experimental Kryptonite shielding technology Batman and Superman had been developing recently. The design was far from fully functional and had yet to be tested on a Super, but it would hopefully be enough of a buffer that Superboy would be able to get out of range before the full side effects hit if the team encountered that particular obstacle. Something was better than nothing, and Conner had given in and slid the small disk into his pocket if only to increase the odds that much further.

Preparations came to a close, simultaneously too quickly and not fast enough. The gathered heroes filed determinedly onto the Jet before the sun rose the next morning, seen off by Alfred in person and Barbara over the Comms. Even at top speed the flight across North America would take a couple of hours. Many of Bruce’s kids settled silently into seats in the back of the plane, trying to give Bruce the space they knew he needed and attempting to at least pretend to get a few hours of rest before the upcoming battle. The three Titans huddled in the back corner, occasionally whispering to each other too quietly for Bruce to make out.

Around twenty minutes into the flight, Jason moved to sit in the front of the plane beside Bruce. Neither man said anything, only acknowledging each other with a brief nod before returning their gaze to the distant horizon as the miles slid away beneath them.

\---

Ghost slipped carefully through the newly unlocked door, closing it softly behind him. In his mind he started a mental timer counting down the minutes until the shift change in the distant control room would be completed and his looping on this floor's cameras would be noticed. He had to be out before then.

Before him, the many powerful machines that made up the unnamed Alaska base’s server room spread out before him, small multicolored lights blinking brightly through the dim lighting. For the most part Tim ignored them, moving smoothly past to get to the main terminal that all of the wires connected to. He ignored the chair, impatiently tapping the power button on the monitor to boot up the maintenance login screen while reaching down to plug in the small USB he had slid from his belt.

The first program window popped up on the monitor, and Tim quickly typed in the commands to trigger the password cracking software. The script ran successfully, and within a few moments the login flashed green and the terminal’s homescreen opened up silently. 

Then Tim started flying through windows, working to install the Trojan virus in a way that it wouldn’t trigger any alarms in the security system. Within a minute everything was installed. Then it was just a matter of erasing Tim’s digital fingerprints and closing everything down to match how he found it. He pulled the flashdrive out without bothering to save eject, knowing that it would likely be destroyed afterwards anyway.

Just as Tim was turning off the monitor and looking over the desk to make sure there was no trace of his meddling, there was a faint knock from the vents above him. His internal countdown told him that he still had around 45 seconds left to exit the room, but the warning signal from his lookouts indicated that someone was coming. Tim calculated the numbers quickly and determined that if he wanted to stay unnoticed he would have to get out of the room before they turned the corner rather than wait for them to pass by. 

Tim darted across the room, pausing only to gently swing the door open and slip out into the hall. He closed it as quickly as he dared, taking a few steps away down the hall and towards the center, heading towards the elevator and where he suspected the interrupting person or group would be coming from. Tim’s mental countdown hit zero just as they turned the corner.

It was only a mild surprise when Lex Luthor himself glanced over at Tim in surprise, as if the man hadn’t in all likelihood tracked down what floor Tim was currently on intentionally. The business man seemed appraising, though any intimidation that Tim may have felt was nothing compared to what he had experienced from Ra’s. In that moment Tim was glad he had made a point of roaming around the base when on break over the last few days, both familiarizing himself with the base’s complex underground layout and neatly explaining why he might be discovered exiting a random corridor of mostly locked doors. Them meeting here wouldn’t be overly suspicious.

Luthor smiled in that false way of his, that grin tailor-made to ease those who didn’t know better and put those who did on edge. Tim had become quite familiar with that smile from the few times that the two of them had interacted over the past few days. The three ninja currently assigned to trail Lex gave the faintest nod in acknowledgement but made no move to intervene one way or another.

“Ah,  _ Ghost _ , correct?. I was wondering when I would run into you again. How have you been adjusting to the facility, have all the inevitable issues with the patrols and guard shifts been hammered out yet?”

Tim fought to keep his expression even at the excessively faked tone, the task made much easier by the presence of the mask over the lower half of his face. Luthor had been mildly suspicious of Tim- Ghost- in particular ever since they arrived. Maybe he had picked up on the tension between him and some of the others, maybe it was just the fact that he was clearly young and in charge, but something had caught the billionaire’s eye in their first meeting, and Tim had been dealing with his thinly veiled probing ever since.

“Yes, Mr. Luthor,” he assured the man, “everyone seems to have settled into the patterns as flawlessly as expected of them. I have a meeting with a couple of the commanders later to ensure that the scheduling and communication lines are all functioning properly.”

“Lovely, that’s around what my own security team had reported as well. You’ve done well integrating with the existing system.” Luthor pulled back his shoulders purposefully, looking down at Tim from his significantly taller height with a look that spoke of careful calculation.

“You seem like an intelligent boy, Ghost. Though I must say that it’s almost like I’ve met you before. Something about you seems strangely similar…”

He trailed off, waiting for Ghost to react to the comment. Tim took in a carefully controlled breath, determined to not give away any clues to confirm or deny Luthor’s suspicions. If he made the connection to the former Robin Tim was liable to be seen as a potential infiltrator (which he technically was… just not for the Justice League) and he would be locked up and sent back to Ra’s at best, possibly killed at worst. If Ghost was connected to Tim Drake-Wayne, that would draw Bruce and the others far too much suspicion from the genius businessman. If he managed to figure out both...

Tim didn’t hate the Bats enough to throw all of their secret identities under the bus like that. He had to be careful.

“I can’t say for sure,” Ghost responded diplomatically. “I have been with Ra’s for quite a while now, I suppose it’s possible that we’ve crossed paths before.”

“Perhaps,” the man allowed with a barely perceivable frown. Luthor was obviously frustrated by that response, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to push the matter. Tim had a sneaking suspicion that the topic would be coming up again over the indefinite time that they would be forced to work together. Tim could almost  _ see  _ when Luthor mentally switched strategies.

“You know, Ghost, I could have great use for someone with your intellect. I would love to take the opportunity to-”

Whatever Luthor was about to offer was cut off with a flash of red light and a sudden blare of the alarm system. Immediately Tim moved to tap a finger to the Comm in his ear.

“Status report!” he ordered.

“The perimeter alarms were just triggered by a medium-sized, quick-moving, aerial vehicle. The video cameras aren’t picking it up, some sort of cloaking technology, and the heat sensors aren’t giving any good readings to tell if it’s autonomous or not. Based on trajectory, it appears to be landing around half a mile east of the surface compound, just within visual distance of the main warehouse.”

Tim mentally pulled up a map of the above ground buildings. That warehouse was rather isolated, all the buildings were really. There was an entrance to the underground levels from there, if the apparent attackers knew to look for it. It would have been nice to try and keep that hidden in case it wasn’t discovered already, but it was the only nearby exit point.

Tim started jogging towards the stairs, two of the ninja who had been accompanying Ra’s flanking him without prompting. They might all dislike him on principle, but they still listen to him. The third ninja and the billionaire himself started in the opposite direction, deeper into the maze of tunnels towards the hidden entrance to one of Luthor’s many private bunkers. Supervillain he may be, but without any tech Luthor was not a fighter. He preferred to watch his battles play out from a distance.

“Have all non-combatants get to their designated safety zones,” Tim ordered without hesitation. “Launch the drone fleet as soon as the vehicle lands. Keep them at around a 100 foot perimeter and wait to see if anyone emerges. As soon as any people emerge get a visual, and if they aren’t friendly engage with the drones. All of our men on duty should head towards the eastern exit. Gather in the B-1E antichamber and wait for me to get there and organize everyone. Have Luthor’s men head up through the northern exit and move around to flank. Ideally we can at least distract them enough to-”

Without warning, the Comm in Tim’s ear cut into static. The two ninja beside him reacted as well, eyes snapping towards their boss automatically in question. Tim frowned, glancing up at the camera’s he knew lined the stairwell. Their lights were off.

“Well that proves this isn’t some weird understanding. They must have just jammed the radio frequencies and cameras somehow. It can’t be an EMP since the lights are still on. I imagine all the doors will still open as well, but the lack of communication could be a problem. We’ll have to continue and assume everyone is following the initial plan and proceed from there.”

The pair of ninja nodded, and the trio wordlessly sped up a notch or two, racing up the stairs and towards the upcoming confrontation.

\---

Everyone on the BatJet was standing as Batman carefully but quickly touched down a half-mile from their target, quickly going through the protocols to set the vehicle into idle mode and locking the controls until he or one of his partners entered the correct code. It was extremely useful in situations like this, where they might need a quick getaway.

When he turned around, Batman found his kids all clustered around Nightwing, who had a hand pressed to his Comm. B was unsurprised when Oracle spoke up, giving an update on what she knew of the situation.

“Alright gang, here’s what I got. The cloak bought you time, but you were still tagged on the perimeter sensors around a minute ago, so there’s only a limited window to get in and act on the surprise. The Jet sent out a frequency pulse as soon as you were in range of the base that should have knocked out their Comm system, and I managed to get enough of a hold of their cameras from here to shut down the whole system, so they won’t know who’s attacking. But all the other tech, including the thirty or so sentry bots that are currently heading your way, are working off of a more encrypted system I can’t get into anytime soon. Someone’s going to have to deal with them before they get in the way.”

Batman glanced quickly over at Superboy, mulling over his options quickly. 

“Do any of those sentries have kryptonite weapons?”

“They shouldn’t,” Oracle assured quickly. “Those bots are just meant as a first wave distraction. The anti-super tech is probably being carried by Luthor’s men directly, and maybe some more heavy duty bots elsewhere”

“And Tim?”

“I managed to catch a glimpse of him a couple levels down before I shut down the cameras,” Oracle said at the same time that Superboy frowned and said “I can’t hear him right now, he might be in a white noise zone.”

“Alright,” Batman decided. “The Titans will rush out first and start taking out those sentries. The rest of us will wait until the Titans have drawn attention away and then we’ll make a break for the warehouse and get the underground entrance open. Hopefully you three will have caught up by then and we can follow the search plan.” 

The trio of young heroes glanced at each other speculatively before Wonder Girl stepped forward.

“Agreed.”

Without further discussion necessary, the three Titans moved towards the back of the jet while the Bat’s all clustered towards the center. Impulse was literally vibrating with energy, while Wonder Girl adjusted her grip on her lasso. It was Superboy who reached out to open the doors, pausing just for a moment to ensure that everyone was ready before pressing the switch. His head was already tilted slightly, likely listening to the circling sentries.

The door had barely opened halfway, only a couple of seconds in, and the trio was off in a blink. In the distance, the first firing of projectiles and clang of metal on metal sounded moments later.

Batman raised a hand, holding it in place for as long as he dared make them wait. Within five seconds of the ramp settling into its final position they were off, skirting around the edge of the plane to avoid notice for as long as possible before bolting towards the distant warehouse. Only a single sentry locked on to the group as they flew past, but Superboy moved to intercept before any of the Bat’s could even think of reacting. They kept going, Batgirl offering a thankful wave as they passed.

Only minutes later the group was clearing the treeline and was within range of the large warehouse’s doors. By that point Batman, Black Bat, and Red Hood had drawn ever so slightly ahead, Nightwing instinctively falling back to keep pace with Robin and Batgirl. Not even wanting to slow down to deal with the undoubtedly locked doors, the three in the front quickly turned to weaponry. A pair of explosive batarangs and a slew of bullets hit the warehouse at practically the same instant, blowing through the locks. 

The group in the front slowed just enough for the other three to catch up just as they reached the smoldering doors, and the entire group seemed to take in a silent breath as Hood and Batman simultaneously threw the double doors open. 

Almost instantaneously there was a loud whirring of mechanical parts, and the entire group split down the middle and threw themselves to the sides as a flurry of laser shots cut through the place they had once occupied. Something heavy shifted from the center of the room as a bright beam of light suddenly split through the chilled air.

Making eye contact from either side of the entrance, Robin and Batgirl quickly reached into their belts and tossed a pair of smoke bombs each around the doorframe.

Batman and Red Hood, the most heavily armored of the group, both moved as soon as the smoke released, releasing a furious rain of batarangs and bullets towards the mystery attacker. As soon as it was clear that the attacker- a robot of some kind- couldn’t get an accurate target through the smokescreen, the other four Bat’s dove in. They moved soundlessly around the inside of the walls as they observed and occasionally threw more smoke down, taking advantage of the largest Bats’ distraction.

Their attacker was a singular- but very large, approximately fifteen feet in height- robot with a laser cannon attached to each arm and tank treads instead of legs. Batman couldn’t get a clear view beyond the general silhouette through the smoke. 

Less than thirty seconds into the initial assault Batgirl’s voice rang across the room, momentarily drawing the attention of one of the bot’s cannons before she managed to duck behind a support pillar.

“I got a clear visual! The thing is mostly heavily armored, but the back has some exposed wires. I think they must have just finished working on it.”

“On it!” Nightwing called quickly. Two dark shapes dropped onto the robot’s broad shoulder plating, Nightwing and Black Bat having somehow both made their way into the rafters without being spotted. Sometimes his kids’ acrobatic and stealth training really paid off.

The robot, of course, noticed the sudden threats right away, but it didn’t appear smart enough to deal with it effectively. The overlarge machine spun quickly in a circle, firing off laser shots wildly. All of the Bats left on the warehouse floor were left ducking for cover behind various machines or pillars to avoid the shots. 

But, through a seemingly fatal design flaw, the robot's arms couldn’t seem to twist far enough to hit either of the vigilante’s currently sitting on top of it. They both ignored the thrashing movements effortlessly, Black Bat throwing a line around the head of the robot to be secured by Nightwing while she expertly leaned herself down and slashed an unforgiving blade through the wiring. With a series of almost upset sounding  _ klangs _ , the robot’s blinding spotlight dimmed to nothing and the entire machine stopped moving. Black Bat and Nightwing both flipped to the floor and gave each other a high five, Robin scowling in the background as Batgirl laughed.

The group reconvened quickly in the center of the room to ensure everyone was uninjured. Red Hood had a decent scorch mark on his left shoulder, but the armor had luckily done its job. Everything considered, Batman was starting to suspect that this particular robot was only a prototype.

Just as Batman was about to order the group to spread out and search for a way to get the underground entrance open, Hood threw an arm out to pause everyone, his other hand pressed lightly to the side of his helmet and his eyes locked on a point towards the back of the warehouse.

“There’s a big group of heat signatures there, just below the floor. I think they’re-” a pneumatic hiss cut him off, a distant part of the concrete flooring suddenly slid down and to the side to reveal a set of stairs packed with groups of dark-clad figures. “-coming up,” Hood finished pointlessly.

The swarms of ninja fanned out along the walls, forming a half circle around the Bats that automatically shifted positions to greet them. They were heavily outnumbered, Bruce estimated around a hundred to their six. Surprisingly, the swarm didn’t automatically attack, though they were all clearly armed with swords and the occasional firearm or other distance weapon. Despite it all, the thing that caught Batman’s eye the most was the flash of green amid the darker colors.

“Tim!” Bruce called out hopefully, drawing the eyes of practically the whole room.

“Hold position!” an achingly familiar voice called, order ringing across the room and freezing the mass of ninja in place. He was  _ here _ .

Sure enough, Tim emerged amid the sea of ninja, the green of the cape and dragon sigil standing out sharply as he stood directly across from the gathered bats with his back towards the stairs. He himself was armed, holding a double bladed sword that spoke of a more European style than was typical for the League with a startling familiarity. Bruce had caught glimpses of a sheathed blade at his son's hip before this, but seeing him actually intend to wield the weapon was an entirely different matter.

The sword lowered from its ready position as Tim trailed his gaze over the assembled Bats. The mask over his lower face hid most of his expression, but even from the distance Bruce thought he could see the boy’s eyes widen slightly.

“Bru- Batman?” he called back cautiously, the ninja shifting warily.

“Timmy!” Nightwing called excitedly before Bruce- no, he was Batman right now damnit- managed to sort through the influx of emotions. “We’ve come to bring you home!”

That, as it turned out, was the wrong thing to say. Tim slipped straight back into an aggressive stance as his eyes flashed a brilliant green that was shockingly visible given the distance between them.

“Bring me  _ home _ ?” Tim spat venomously as his small body shook with tension. “Why the hell would I believe  _ you _ about that when you were the one who kicked me out?”

“No one  _ kicked you out _ , Tim,” Batgirl cut in with an edge of frustration, seemingly ignorant to how Black Bat tugged at her arm in protest. “No one is denying that we really messed up trying to talk to you, and none of us listened to you, but none of us wanted you to  _ leave _ .”

Unsurprisingly, Tim didn’t react to that any better, his grip on the sword tightening further to compensate for how he practically vibrated with pent up emotion.

“What else was I supposed hear when you all took everything away from me and called me fucking crazy. Did you just expect me to sit there and take it while you all tore the scraps that were left of my life apart even further? You guys wanted to lock me up in fucking Arkham! Why the hell would you think that I’m expecting anything else  _ now _ !”

The ninja scattered around the room were clearly reading their boss’s obvious tension, many of them leaning forward as if expecting to finally get the order to attack any second now. From where he was aiming his twin pistols at the restless wall of enemies, Hood snapped his head around to shoot a glare at the rest of the group.

“Shut up!” he hissed quietly enough to just barely pick up on his voice synthesizer. “You guys are all doing the opposite of helping. Just let B talk.”

Batman nodded towards his second eldest appreciatively before turning his entire focus back to the boy tensely eyeing the quiet conversation from across the room. Getting Tim calm enough to listen to them was his biggest priority right now.

So Bruce let the Batman personality slip, just a bit, relaxing the line of his shoulders and raising his hands palm out, placating. Tim’s eyes flicked to him at the movement before continuing to scan over the whole lineup of Bats anxiously, like he was just waiting for one of them to lunge for him. The obvious fear there was another blow to Bruce’s aching chest.

“Tim, partner, just focus on me for a moment, okay? I promise none of us are going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. We won’t hurt you, alright? Can you trust that?”

Tim didn’t respond directly to the question, but that internal rage that had sparked at his brother’s and friend’s words seemed to dim again slightly. His eyes dulled to a more natural shade of green, and his stance once again shifted more towards relaxed, though the tension clearly remained.

“Why are you here?” he said finally.

“I’m keeping my promise,” Bruce said easily, warmly. “I told you, when you saved me and I was forced to leave, that I would come back for you. I’m here to fulfill that promise now, Sweetheart, even if it took much longer than I wanted.”

“It’s been over four months,” Tim said, emotionless except for the smallest edge of confusion and accusation. He wasn’t sure how to react yet, then. “You were back on the street in less than two. There’s been no attempt to talk to me except for Ca- Black Bat, and I know that was a total accident on both sides.” Bruce jumped at the uncertainty there.

“I know, partner. I’m so sorry it took me- us- this long. I promise that we were looking the whole time. Ra’s just had you hidden too well. We couldn’t find you anywhere, until we had a sudden break last night. We came as soon as we could.”

Tim’s eyes bored into Bruce’s, a sea of confusion as multiple instincts fought for control. His eyes trailed over the other Bat’s again, this time more evaluating than afraid. They all held even more still as he searched for something, finally seeming to settle on Hood at the end of the line. The older boy looked back steadily as he could through the helmet, part of his attention still on the many enemies surrounding them.

“He’s telling the truth?” Tim asked Hood tightly, like he really wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Hood relaxed his defensive pose ever so slightly while he answered, trying to convey that he was taking the question seriously.

“Yeah he’s right Timbers. We’ve been trying to track you down for ages now. Things aren't really the same in Gotham without ya, kid. I promise you can trust B this time, okay?”

Tim’s stance dropped even further, blade dipping towards the ground as Tim relaxed before he caught the slip and pulled the tip away from the concrete. He seemed to blink, staring blankly at the sword for a moment before snapping back into focus and smoothly sliding the blade into its sheath at his side. After another moment he reached up to tug the mask off of his face, finally baring his whole expression.

He didn’t make any move to step away from where he was, surrounded by ninja, but Bruce saw the small show of trust as a solid start.

“I… I’m still not sure,” Tim said carefully, like he was afraid that someone would snap at him for the admission. “But I… I think I want you to explain more, so I can decide.”

Bruce didn’t even try to hide the small smile that slid over his face.

“Of course sweetheart, what are-”

They had been so close. And yet, despite it all, it only took a single change for things to slide back downhill.

The only warning that the Bats got was when their long-silent Comms sprang to life in their ears without warning, Oracle’s mildly panicked voice crackling brokenly over the line.

“I don’t- is trying to- how are they even- losing control!”

Then only silence as the line went completely dead. 

The Bats had all jumped a bit at the sudden noise and now stood frozen, trying to figure out what had just happened. Across the room, Tim had seemingly tensed up again at their unexpected reaction, eyes wary as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

The entire room jumped a bit, this time, when the yet unused and ignored PA system rigged through the warehouse suddenly came to life with a shrill squealing of feedback, followed by a moment of total silence. You could have heard a feather drop, in that moment.

“My my, what do we have here,” Ra’s voice floated over the room cloyingly. “It seems that I was left out of the most interesting conversation. Care to fill me in on what I missed, Timothy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh another cliffhanger... I might have a minor addiction there. Don't worry folks, the next chapter shouldn't take too long... two weeks at most? My goal is to get this entire fic finished before my classes start again, so I'm on the clock now. Until then stay safe everyone!


	13. He Said He's Protecting Us (but He's a Liar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh we're so close to the end now! Well, technically I guess you could consider this technically the final chapter of this arc and chapter 14 as an epilogue/set up for the second fic? But either way, we're almost there! And the start of the Fall semester is *also* almost here, so if I'm lucky I might actually be able to get the last chapter done within the next couple of days so WMOOD is finished before school starts like I planned. Or I'll get distracted by other people's writing and it will be another week or two, who knows!
> 
> Anyways, thanks so much as always for all the comments and kudos. You all make writing this story so much better and I'm so excited to be close to finishing off this story for all of you. You are all amazing <3
> 
> I'm also going to slap a slight *warning* on this one for discussion of death/murder, near-death injury, and inaccurate medical procedures. I don't think its anything that's particularly worse than previous chapters, nothing too graphic, but I figured it was worth saying just in case. Stay safe y'all :)
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter title from Fire by Kimya Dawson

Tim’s mind felt like it was tearing itself to shreds.

In the moment that followed the Demon Head’s proclamation, there was silence. Tim couldn’t say how long that moment lasted, with how quickly his mind was moving. Conflicting thoughts and feelings shouted to make themselves known, just to be overpowered by another. 

Only a minute prior a part of him, a large part of him really, had wanted so badly to believe what Bruce was saying was true. The expressions that Bruce had revealed had appeared so genuine. At least enough so that Tim thought it was worth asking more, just to see if that commitment cracked. That side of him that cried out that they had betrayed him had quieted, just for a moment. For a moment, he had let himself hope.

And then Ra’s had spoken.  _ He activated the backdoor _ , a part of Tim realized dimly. He had managed to use that access Tim had given him in order to break past the Bat’s (and likely Oracle’s) control of the system. Once again, it was all Tim’s fault. It was always Tim’s fault these days.

(But Bruce and Hood said that they were here for him?)

( _ They lied. _ )

(But maybe…?)

( _ I won’t let them fool me. Not again. _ )

Now Tim was once again stuck fighting himself.

“Ra’s,” Bruce called out moments (seconds? minutes?) into the sudden silence. “You are a very hard man to track down. I’ve been meaning to have a word or two with you. You seem to have stolen something of mine. I intend to take him home now.”

“Ah, the senior Detective,” Ra’s purred dangerously. “As much as I normally enjoy our little chats, I’m afraid this time the conversation is pointless. The boy you are looking for simply no longer exists.”

The ninja were growing restless. Tim could tell that much through the haze. He knew where their loyalties lie. These people had been assigned to him on this mission specifically because they would obey Ra’s over him.

When the Comms had gone out and cut them off, there had been no choice but to follow the orders of the Heir. Above all, the League’s agents were trained to obey the chain of command. The ability to think for oneself was only bestowed on those who earned it. With the Demon’s Head unavailable, the Heir was by default the next in line. Even if they didn’t like him, they obeyed. 

But now Ra’s was on the intercom, if not back on the Comm line yet. The many hands and feet of the Demon perked up automatically in reaction to their leader’s presence, redoubling their grip over their weapons instinctively at the man’s tone. Just like that, Tim’s control of the situation had been stolen away.

( _ He’s just doing what’s best for me. He’s protecting me from them. _ )

(... But is he? How can I know which feelings are real?)

( _ Ra’s has only ever helped. What have the other’s ever given me? _ )

(They’re my family. They love me.)

( _ And yet when has that ever been enough? _ )

Bruce glanced quickly to either side, eyes brushing over his various allies as if to ensure that they’re ready. He looked at Tim for a moment as well, expression unreadable, before he smoothly reached back to tug the cowl back up. Batman slid smoothly into place.

“I don’t know Ra’s. Tim seems pretty alright to me. We were having a nice conversation before you decided to but in on us. It’s a bit of a family matter, though. If you would be so kind, I think we’re going to leave now so that we can resolve this issue with less of an audience.” 

Batman flicked a hand subtly, and the line of vigilantes fanned out slightly, all of them shifting into a position where they could see the enemies in front of them, trusting the others to watch their backs. It was a familiar positioning to anyone who had ever worked with the Bats, a move that brought Tim both nostalgia and pain as he fought to keep up with the conversation through the haze that had settled over his mind.

“Ah, you see, that’s where you are wrong, Detective. Because it was your family who killed him, who tore him apart piece by piece. I was just the one who realized what had happened, and I was the one who stitched him back together. Timothy is mine now, more than he was ever yours.”

( _ His. I am his now. _ )

(But what if I don’t want to be?)

( _ Who else would accept me as I am now? _ )

(Hood is with them?)

( _ But Jason has always been his son. I’ve always just been a problem. _ )

“What, just because you decided to take advantage of his suffering and manipulate him? Because you got him killed and threw him in your Pit? Because you decided to take advantage of his vulnerability to gain his trust, to convince him that no one else loved him so that he would become your perfect follower?” 

Batman was… angry. But not at Tim? Everything was so confusing.

“No, not entirely,” Ra’s assured. “True, anyone could be convinced to fall into line if given enough incentive. But Timothy is more than a mindless follower. He came to me willingly, my perfect Heir. Obedient, intelligent, intuitive, resourceful. He has lived up to my expectations beautifully in a way even you never could have.”

Even if the Bats couldn’t entirely understand, Tim could hear the implication in that tone. He could see where this train of thought could lead the conversation, the piece of his story that he knew Bruce didn’t have because Tim didn’t want him to know. The one line that Batman would never- could never- cross. The greatest sign of how far Tim has fallen. Tim realized, then, that Ra’s would be perfectly willing to reveal that if it made the Bats falter.

The panic at the impending reveal built up in his throat, practically drowning him.

(Could they still love me?)

( _ They’ll never give you a chance. _ )

“Ra’s…” he choked out, trying to convey how much his mind rebelled against the thought of telling the Bats everything. To his ears, even that one word- the only word he’s managed since the immortal had cut in- was barely discernible. Batman’s eyes snapped to his face before returning to his former efficient sweep of the room as a whole.

“No matter what he’s done, he’s my son. He’s hurting, and it’s not his fault,” Batman reiterated again, if a bit more faintly. “You’ve turned his mind against him. He can’t be held accountable for anything he’s done in the name of obeying you.”

“Even when he has the blood of so many on his hands?”

Tim’s heart stalled, then started up again with dizzying speed. His ears rang in the silence. Across the room, one or more of the Bats’ gloves creaked around the grip of their preferred weapon, and one of them may have gasped quietly. There it was, that last secret that Tim had managed to keep to himself, his last mistake bared for the world to judge. 

His gaze dropped, unwilling to see his former family’s reactions. The lack of an immediate reaction was a clear enough message. 

Ra’s pressed on, tone satisfied.

“Yes, I believe that you’re well past twenty confirmed kills now, aren’t you Timothy? The pair of attempted assassins, all of the times when one of your missions went bad on you, and of course the majority of the Council of Spiders, yes?. At first he was upset, sure. The Pit can make you feel like you lost control. Its like you blacked out and it was done without you having a choice in the matter. But after a while it just becomes normal, doesn’t it? That instinct that tells you to let go of control. The aftershock of a “slip up” lessens until it’s nothing, the memory of that  _ choice _ becomes clearer and clearer each time… 

“For those who are attuned like the two of us, those days with no control pass quickly. The choices he’s made since then… well, they were all his own. How long has it been since you could realistically blame the Pit’s influence, Timothy? Would you like to describe to your former mentor and allies how it feels to guide a blade or bullet through skin and bone? Even while knowing that you could have defeated them another way?”

Tim could physically feel the blood draining from his face, he could feel the many eyes of his former family burning against his body that was suddenly too cold and his skin that was suddenly too tight. Despite Ra’s obviously trying to goad him into a response one way or another, Tim kept his eyes stubbornly locked on the floor by his feet, body locked up with tension to keep him from shaking apart.

(They weren’t supposed to know! Ra’s didn’t have to-)

( _ I couldn’t have hidden this from them forever anyways, better to know now- _ )

(Why aren’t they responding?)

Surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly?), it was the Red Hood who eventually spoke up in response, drawing Tim’s gaze back upwards.

“You’re acting as if having a bit of an anger streak is unheard of in this family. Have you not noticed what some of us have gotten up to previously? It took almost three years for the Pit to finally start burning out on me, and who knows what the brat got up to in his early years. Hell, I’m pretty sure most of us have at least toed the line at one point or another. We aren’t about to condemn Timmy for something like this, right old man?”

Hood not-so-gently elbowed Batman, who as far as Tim could tell had been all but frozen solid ever since Ra’s had spoken. He hardly even seemed to be breathing. Was he mad? Disgusted? Disappointed? Tim couldn’t see his expressions anymore now that the cowl was back up, and it was just adding to the anxiety. 

A corner of Tim’s mind was suddenly conscious of the fact that  _ his _ face was still uncovered for the whole room (and maybe Ra’s cameras) to see. If Tim had any sort of control over his body at the moment he would have moved to pull his mask up again right then and there.

The nudge from Hood seemed to be enough to knock Batman out of his thoughts, though. He jumped, just ever so slightly in a way that only a former Robin could have recognized, and he seemed to quickly process what had been said in the meantime. Then, to Tim’s wide-eyed surprise, Batman actually  _ agreed _ .

“Yes, exactly. It doesn’t matter what you may or may have not done, Tim. Whatever it was, it was done so under duress and under the influence of the enemy. You won’t be held accountable for your actions, not with us,” Batman declared. 

Tim’s head started pounding again as the collection of Bats before him all nodded along in agreement, Black Bat mumbling a quiet “Little brother,” under her breath for added emphasis. Were they all serious? How does he know if they’re telling the truth? How is Tim supposed to make a decision when his head feels like it’s stuck in the center of a hurricane?

“Hmm,” Ra’s hummed in thought, the tone doing absolutely nothing to help calm Tim down. “As much as it would amuse me to watch you all attempt to rebuild the connections you so violently tore down, I’m afraid that I can’t risk letting my Heir get sidetracked so early into his induction. Perhaps in a few years I’ll allow another reunion as a distraction. Until then I’m afraid you are out of luck this time, Detective.”

Without any direct orders, the gathered ninja moved as one to fully surround the Bats, tightening the radius of the circle to do so. Tim suddenly found himself with a wall of dark clothing between himself and the vigilante’s, who quickly created a tight circle of their own to cover the blind spots as the enemies drew closer.

“Now, Timothy, if you would head back down and let the others deal with our unexpected Bat infestation. I’m already sending a helicopter for you, since  _ clearly _ Luthor’s security isn’t nearly as good as he claimed. I’ll have to discuss that with him later. The rest of you… attack pattern Delta Tango Three.”

Panic shot through Tim again, one of the clearest thoughts he’s managed in minutes. And his mind ran through three things in that moment at lightning speed:

  1. If he left now, he wouldn’t get the chance to talk to any of the Bats again for a long time. This is the second time they had shown up unexpectedly. Ra’s would take every precaution to avoid a third.
  2. The Bats were all here, they had come to rescue him, because they wanted them back. That’s what they all kept saying, more or less. That they hadn’t meant to kick him out, that they wanted to bring him home, that they loved him and didn’t want to abandon him. Was all of this really just because they didn’t want to hand over a Bat-trained soldier to the League, or were they actually telling the truth?
  3. Tim really, really wanted to know if they were telling the truth. And if he left now, if he turned around and let the fight play out without trying to intervene, he would never get the chance to find out on his own one way or the other.



Tim’s knees unlocked at that, all at once the tension in his muscles draining away under the presence of the sudden need to  _ act _ . Tim took a few stumbling steps forward, trying to push his way through the wall of ninja. A couple of the ones in the back instantly turned away to grab him, literally dragging him away, using their height and Tim’s short circuiting brain against him.

(No. Nonono, not yet. They can’t-)

( _ Listen to Ra’s, you can’t trust them, they only tell lies- _ )

(But how will I  _ know _ -)

And then the warehouse doors blasted open, three achingly familiar figures highlighted in the dim light as the sun rose. The largest of the three stepped forward quickly, face thrown into stark focus as, for the first time in  _ months _ , that silent, creeping haze of thought that was Tim’s-but-not all but fell away into blessed silence. Suddenly, everything snapped into perfect clarity, Tim’s heart simultaneously slamming to a stop an  _ soaring _ at the sight of-

“Tim!” Superboy called out, voice slightly strained and excited and  _ alive, oh my god Kon is alive _ . _ And Bart, and Cassie is here too? I- _

As if that call was the signal, everything instantly fell into full out chaos.

Within a breath, everything was moving around him. The wall of ninja flooded inwards towards the Bats, with a decent sized contingent breaking away from the main circle to go after the Titans (the Titans!) as Ra’s shouted to attack, to pull the Heir out, a shockingly blatant note of fear in the immortal’s voice as he realized that he was suddenly and unexpectedly losing control-

And suddenly Tim was moving, his sword somehow free of its sheath as the group of ninja that had moved to surround him fell away in an arc of red that Tim didn’t entirely process. All Tim knew was that his mind was suddenly united, all of him focused with the intent of  _ getting across that room _ , to get the answers that were currently tearing apart his chest.

His friends. His friends that were  _ dead _ . Is this another trick, to draw him to their side? 

Some sort of hologram? No, that couldn’t be. They all clearly had a physical form, working together flawlessly to dart around like a tornado of destruction and rip swathes out of the descending hoard as they moved easily through to room to unite with the Bat’s. 

Clones? No, Tim knew firsthand how hard it was to get a perfect clone. He had  _ tried _ . The Justice League didn’t have that kind of knowledge, and they certainly hadn’t had the time to pull something like that together, even if some of them had managed to get past the moral repercussions of cloning their children back to life…

So… was it real? Could it be real? Were Bart and Kon really alive? There was only one way to be sure. Tim had to get there, break through the circle and find out.

Ra’s voice cut through the sounds of battle more and more as Tim moved, cutting through the allies-enemies that moved to stop him. His voice was  _ angry _ , more so than Tim had ever heard him before. He was yelling at the ninja to fight harder, at Tim to stop fighting, at his Heir to obey or accept the punishment that he would be awarded.

In the haze of intent, Tim did his best to block out those warnings, viciously smothering the part of him that viscerally reacted to those threats, the part of him that called out that this was a huge mistake and that he had to  _ obey- _

That hyperfocus was undoubtedly what broke Tim free of the green haze that had settled comfortably over his mind for so long.

It was probably also the reason why he missed the moment when Ra’s gave up on getting Tim to stop fighting him, when he turned to his final contingency to get Tim to fall in line one way or the other.

The shouted verbal command washed over the room, Tim’s brain only managing to process what was said and make the connection to  _ bad _ a split second before the armor over his chest buzzed with electricity, his body flooded with nothing but  _ pain _ and Tim was-

\---

“Ghost, external reset code Echo Sierra!” Ra’s called out over the intercom suddenly, and Batman felt a shiver of foreboding. Whatever Ra’s had just triggered, it had something to do with Tim, and that could only mean bad.

Even that forewarning couldn’t have prepared Bruce when his gaze snapped around to settle on Tim’s body- closer than before, he had been fighting his way towards them? There were certainly people on the ground behind him- locked up and seizing slightly, the green dragon sigil on his chest atypically bright as power passed through.

Had Ra’s rigged Tim’s suit with a high powered defibrillator? Had Ra’s just triggered said emergency protocol with the intent of  _ harming _ Tim, the one he was working so hard to keep away from them?

By the way Tim’s hand loosened on the hilt of his sword, the blade clattering to the ground moments before his limp body slumped to follow suit before he was hauled up by the closest ninja. 

Oh god, Ra’s had just intentionally electrocuted Tim. Bruce’s mind whirled with the myriad of damage that a jolt high enough to knock someone unconscious would cause, cardiac arrest and other severe internal injuries currently at the top of that extremely worrying list. Would Ra’s have thought to at least minimize the risks with a last-ditch plan like this?

… Of course Ra’s wouldn’t think too much of killing someone when he could just dunk them in a Lazarus Pit and heal them.

Oh god, they had to get him out and into the plane's Medbay  _ now _ .

“Impulse!” Batman ordered quickly, flinging out an arm in the right direction to direct the speedster’s attention. By the time the motion had finished, the boy was already off, having quickly taken stock of the situation and darted ahead to snag Tim away from the enemy by force.

They had wanted Tim to come willingly, so that they could start gaining his trust and make all the conversations and events that would follow that much easier. Their contingencies had been forced into emergency mode when Ra’s had pulled out a last ditch plan of his own.

In moments the three ninja that had been surrounding Tim’s limp body were thrown back, and all that remained of Tim and Impulse in the room was a quickly fading trail of lightning. Before Batman had even finished dispatching his next enemy the speedster was back, vibrating in place with anxiety.

“Who-”

“Hood and Batgirl,” Batman quickly cut, quickly making the calculations about who among them would be best suited to administer the initial first aid. Hood had his knowledge of how the Pit altered a person's biology, and Batgirl had the most formal First Aid experience. The two could work together well enough for the time it would take for the rest of the group to withdraw and regroup.

Again, Impulse darted off, the two Bats disappearing in tandem with the accompanying trail of electricity. The rest of the group, other Titans included, slid easily into position to cover the missing members positions, already moving into more defensive, evasive tactics as they all prepared to disengage from the battle now that the objective had been accomplished. A minute or two later, Batman caught a glimpse of Impulse darting around between them and the exit, having returned to help clear the way.

The battle shifted quickly, the vigilantes focusing more on keeping the thinning horde distracted and pushing them back and away. They must have realized by now that they had failed, what with Ra’s cursing and shouting over the intercom, but the ninja kept fighting them. 

Finally the group cleared the warehouse doors and started carefully pulling back towards the Batjet. Nightwing turned and broke away from the main group halfway towards their goal, Robin following a bit behind to cover the retreat. The remaining two Bats followed quickly, the Titans trailing slightly behind to bring up the rear, knowing it would be much less problematic if one of them were to miss the ride.

Nonetheless, they all managed to make it. Robin stood in the doorway, pelting the approaching enemies with batarangs and smoke bombs as Batman and Black Bat moved quickly to join him there, heedless of the ramp shifting below their feet. They continued their defense until the Titans moved into position to back them up, signaling for them to go, purposefully stopping short and turning to defend the aircraft from attack as the doorway slammed shut.

Batman’s job guarding the door was done, and based on the flurry of button and lever sounds emanating from the cockpit Nightwing was well on his way to getting them airborne by himself. Assured by that, Batman then spun to face the nook that made up the jet’s Medbay, already striding forward as his mind analyzed the situation.

The first thing that Bruce noticed as he rounded the corner into the small side room was Tim’s oh-so-small body laid out on one of the cots, skin pale even against the white of sterile fabric below him. Jason glanced up as Bruce pushed the privacy curtain further to the side in his haste to check in, his typical Hood thrown to the side, no domino mask in sight. The young man’s chest moved just a hair too quickly, eyes tinged green with anxiety in a way that he rarely showed anymore. He was bent over Tim slightly, shoulders tense, as his hands dropped from where they hovered over Tim to grip the edge of the cot with white knuckles. 

On Tim’s other side was Stephanie, cowl pushed back to reveal a face speckled with perspiration. As Bruce stepped closer, she dropped limply back into a chair that was conveniently located behind her, fingers loose around the paddles of the defibrillator. The recently attached heart monitor behind Tim’s head beeped happily in a way that didn’t at all betray the emergency situation that had taken place mere moments before.

“We got him,” Steph panted as Bruce reached them and ran a hand automatically through Tim’s mid-length hair, distantly analyzing the white strip over his forehead that so closely matched Jasons as he pushed through the residual panic at the fact that  _ Tim’s heart had stopped _ . 

His two middle sons. Both of them have been through so much in their short lives. Sometimes Bruce really did wish he could just wrap up all his children in blankets and protect them from everything. He had failed them so many times… the crisscross of old scars and much more recent spider-web of burn marks over Tim’s chest betraying a small portion of what he’s been through. The external damage didn’t seem too bad all things considered, but Bruce knew that there was no telling how severe the internal damage was.

Bruce really,  _ really _ wished he had had the chance to punch Ra’s in the face.

(Tim’s  _ heart  _ had  _ stopped _ .)

Cass slipped silently into the Medbay just as the jet finally came to life, Damian lurking in the entrance as the thrusters powered up with a roar. Voice tight with focus, Dick called back, “Brace for takeoff, it might get rough!”

The floor under them jolted. Bruce and Jason both rushed forward in tandem to pin Tim’s too-limp body to the bed lest he get injured any further. There apparently hadn’t been enough time to fully restrain him earlier. Cass slipped linthly between Bruce and Stephanie before hoisting herself up onto the cot above Tim’s head, bracing his neck while she caressed his temples with feather-light fingers.

The whole vehicle swayed as they lifted off, rocketing upwards and forward as quickly as Dick could safely urge it. A flurry of small impacts sounded from the rear of the jet, and Damian moved quickly over the unstable floor to go join Dick at the controls.

At some point, the Comms in everyone's ears finally crackled back to life as Barbara managed to wrangle back control of the system, bringing those currently trapped and bracing in the jet a play by play update as Superboy and Wonder Girl worked together to try and block as many shots from the ground as possible as the vehicle ascended, then shifted into escort positions to keep watch for any potential air attacks as they shot forward. 

The roughness of the quick takeoff eventually eased as the jet hit the right altitude and speed, allowing everyone to relax a shade further. They were officially in the clear for now. After some debating, Impulse darted ahead to the closest Zeta to warn the Watchtower that they were coming. Tim was injured enough that they didn’t want to risk the flight time to get back to Gotham. 

All of that, Bruce followed subconsciously, his brain storing the information of what happened. The subtle shake in everyone’s voices, the small snatches of the Justice League’s preparations that came from Bart’s Comm, all of that could wait until Bruce was completely assured by the presence of the warm body below his hands that was so  _ small  _ and  _ hurt _ and  _ alive _ .

Everyone’s silent vigil only broke when Stephanie managed to peel herself out of the chair she had collapsed in to point out that they should pull the outer layers of Tim’s uniform off properly to check for trackers and further injuries. The Bats all worked carefully to ensure they didn’t trigger any other failsafes that could be embedded in the Ghost suit as they went, with Cass and Jason taking particular pleasure in crushing the handful of bugs that they found hidden between the layers of fabric and armor and wiring.

A decent array of throwing knives were discovered in the many hidden pockets of the bodysuit and belt, along with a variety of smoke bombs, first aid supplies, and other typical field gear. The handgun on Tim’s right hip gave Bruce a particular pause, Jason allowing a small smile even through his tension as he unclipped the holster and disassembled the weapon. The sword that Tim had carried, in comparison, was long gone.

The small black Comm that had been nestled in Tim’s ear sparked ever so slightly as Bruce pulled it loose, the device long ruined by the multiple shocks that had been transferred through it second hand. Bruce glared at it darkly for only a moment before crushing it between his fingers.

The last of the armor finally came loose, allowing them to cut through the remains of the underlying body suit to get a good look at the underlying skin, sans the boxers they easily decided to leave for the time being. The array of scars and burns had already been noted, but the extent of the year or so’s worth of damage was clearly visible. There was also a shallow, sluggishly bleeding slash down Tim’s left forearm that was easily bandaged. His ribcage (and the rest of his bones for that matter) seemed unbroken at quick assessment, so they carefully tipped Tim sideways to check his back.

That, as it turned out, was the most dramatic part of the injury assessment, because that’s when they saw the tattoo etched over Tim’s shoulder blades and down his spine. The nearly identical match to the dragon sigil that had been added to the front of the Ghost uniform was one thing. The familiar sprawling Arabic of a certain immortal’s chosen last name was another.

Bruce trailed his fingers lightly over the script etched permanently into his son’s skin, and was almost unsurprised to find his mind atypically blank as everyone else around him reacted in their own ways. Bruce was just stuck on the thought that, knowing Ra’s, this wouldn’t be a normal, removable type of tattoo. 

The scars and residual Lazarus Pit influence would have been enough, surely. Did Ra’s really have to go this far in his attempt to claim the life of a boy that by no means belonged to him?

Bruce was… tired, after it was all done. The last half an hour of the flight towards civilization was quiet. Jason eventually had enough of the tense atmosphere and wandered out of the room to disappear into a different, more private area of the jet where he could be alone. Stephanie passed out on a second cot on the other side of the room a short time later, leaving Bruce and Cass as the final silent guardians over their rescued bird.

So as Cass twined herself even closer around her injured brother, burying her face into his hair, Bruce held tightly onto Tim’s small, pale hand and tried to focus on the warmth of the boy's skin, sinking into the more-or-less steady beating of his heart.

Tim was here. Tim was safe.

It wasn’t everything, not by far. There were still so many pieces that had to be put back together before things would be okay again. There were so many wounds to heal, so many conversations to have.

But at least now they would have a shot at making things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, what do you guys think about how things were resolved? Any particular questions that are still eating you alive? Anything that you desperately want to see in the sequel? The details of the (still unnamed, heh) "Arc 2" are still rather fluid right now, so now is the time to speak up and it just might fit in nicely with the existing outline.
> 
> Until next time, stay safe my friends <3


	14. Whatcha Gonna Do (When There's Blood in the Water)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One challenge has ended, but more trouble is on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, we've reached the end. A few days past when I originally intended, sure, but we're here nonetheless. Once again, I want to give a huge shout out to everyone who has read, kudos'd and commented on this story, whether you've been here since the first chapter or binged it in the distant future years after this was posted. You are all amazing human beings <3
> 
> This chapter is very much an epilogue/teaser for the sequel. It ended up a bit shorter than I thought, but some of the scenes I was thinking about adding got flipped into the sequel's outline so here we are. It's actually been more or less finished for a few days now but I wasn't entirely happy with it. Lots of these characters aren't ones I'm as familiar with, but I tried my best. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> (PS: take a look at the endnote once you're done for a surprise!)
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter title comes from Blood // Water by grandson

Even from almost halfway across the Watchtower, Clark kept a careful ear towards the Medbay where Bruce and his brood were currently holed up. Various members of the JLA, including Clark, Oliver, and Wally, had just finally succeeded in ushering the last of the trio of Titans off, having finally convinced the three kids to go back to their homes and check in with their various relatives. 

Two of those three had been dead less than 24 hours previously, after all. There was a lot of catching up for them to do.

Clark’s heart was still warm after seeing Kon, alive and well after almost a year and a half of being gone. He had managed to pull a brief explanation out of the boy- something with the future and traveling back in time?- and that had been enough for the time being. The two of them may have never been close, but Clark had nonetheless mourned the boy's loss. He couldn’t wait until he was free from his standby shift to go and join the reunion happening in Kansas.

Wally, standing near Clark’s side, was even more noticeably ecstatic over the return of the boy who was more or less his little brother. The two speedsters had taken previously a couple laps around the Watchtower to catch up on everything before Wally had finally ushered the younger boy towards the Zeta’s alongside his friends. 

Diana had chosen to escort Cassie off herself, the pair of Amazon’s going who knows where to celebrate the successful mission and return of her friends. Clark had given up on following all the ins and outs of Diana’s culture years ago, but the two of them had both been excited so he didn’t question it that much.

There was a plan in place for all of them to reconvene at the Tower later, a large party already being organized by those still residing back in the San Francisco base. Of course, all of them were a bit reluctant to celebrate fully when one of their friends was currently unable to attend.

The three kids had all been reluctant to leave the Watchtower with Tim still unconscious and healing. From what Clark had overheard there had been a fair bit of physical damage taken by the boy during his… rescue, and everyone involved had been very concerned. Luckily, the kids had all eventually given in with enough prompting by their mentors and assurances that they could see him again once he was awake. Probably.

It was good that the Titans had eventually given in. There were some conversations that the Justice League would need to have now, and the topic would not be something that those three should be a part of.

The Justice League’s questions needed answering. What has Tim, the former Robin, been doing for the past year?

There were a lot of rumors, starting almost as soon as the kid had dropped off the Justice League’s radar just days after the announcement of a new Robin. Secret discussions abounded behind Nighwing-turned-Batman’s back about how the former Robin was lost in grief, about why he had been replaced as Robin, about how he disappeared seemingly into nowhere in search of a dead man. Of course, when Bruce had actually returned it had been a surprise, and many of those initial opinions on the boy had been tactfully pushed aside as if they were never there.

But Tim hadn’t returned with him, and there was new information revealed. That Tim had somehow ended up allying himself with Ra’s al-Ghul, going as far as to be claimed as his official Heir. He was even running actual missions. That didn’t sound like a move by someone who was being forcibly held by an enemy. People had died on some of the missions he was said to have led. And then apparently the Bats and Titans had tracked Tim down to one of Lex Luthor’s bases, a place they now highly suspected was developing new weaponry. What on earth had he been doing hanging out with Luthor?

Clark focused again on the sounds coming out of the Medbay. A steady beeping, machines whirring, seven distinct heartbeats. The occasional whispered conversation passed between two or three of them, just mundane topics that revealed little to no details. Mostly they were silent, only conveying the occasional shifting of fabric or half-suppressed sighs. The Bats all knew better to discuss sensitive details in a place filled with superhumans who could eavesdrop. Nonetheless, part of Clark still wished that they would.

He just wanted to understand what was going on.

“This whole situation is a mess,” Oliver said suddenly, summing up Clark’s thoughts perfectly. “We’ve got dead kids coming back to life, and then they go and rescue a third who had all but landed himself on our watchlist over the past few months. We’ve given the Bat’s a lot of leeway over the years, but I’m not so sure about this one. It still seems like the kid just straight up lost it and went bad.”

“I’m not sure,” Wally chimed in carefully. “All the Bats are very insistent that anything he’s said to have done with the Assassins was done under duress. They’ve all been focused on basically nothing but tracking him down for months now, haven't they? Why make the effort to bring him back if he had actually betrayed them?”

“Covering their asses,” Oliver scoffed. “They lost track of a kid that they knew was unstable when they should have kept an eye on him, and now he’s gone and teamed up with one of the Justice League’s greatest enemies. Maybe even two of them, depending on what exactly he was doing at one of Luthor’s bases when they picked him up. They’re just covering up their mistakes. Probably gonna lock the kid up somewhere in the Batcave and tell us all that he’s retired. They’d better, at least. I certainly wouldn’t trust him to run loose after everything.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Clark jumped in, before the conversation could escalate any further. “There’s still a lot of information that we don’t know. Until we’ve heard from Batman, and probably Tim himself, we should try to not pass judgement. There may be some details we’re missing.

“Yeah, you’re right. We need more information before we can start making any demands,” Wally sifted impatiently before continuing. “But one of you guys has got to be the one to tell Bats that we have to have a meeting to discuss what to do about his latest assassin kid.”

\---

Ra’s al-Ghul was furious.

That was the majority of what Pru was getting out of this meeting, basically the only important detail if she was honest with herself. All she knew going in was that Tim had been gone for almost a week on a undisclosed mission with no contact, and all the sudden there were more forces being dispatched to wherever Ra’s had seen fit to send him, and a bunch of the higher level assassins currently in Sanctuary had been summoned to Ra’s side with practically no forewarning a mere hour later. So the eight or so of them had gone, obviously. You didn’t ignore a summons from the Master.

And then, when they arrived, the guy just started going off like he had completely lost it.

It was extremely unsettling, to bear witness to a man who possessed so much power having what more or less amounted to a full mental breakdown. It took close to twenty minutes of listening to him rant about betrayals of trust and failed strategies before Pru had finally received enough context clues to figure out that this had something to do with Tim. That the kid had managed to get away somehow or, more accurately, he was broken out. Stolen, as Ra’s said. Tim was  _ stolen _ from him, because somehow his greatest enemies (translate: the Bats) had pulled one over on the old goat. Whatever ‘ally’ Ra’s had aligned himself with in an attempt to throw the Bats off of Tim’s trail after their last encounter had somehow failed spectacularly and allowed the very people they were supposed to be keeping Tim away from to sweep him away, presumably back to Gotham.

Hence why Ra’s was blowing a gasket.

Pru had never seen the Master like this, if she was honest. Only the highest ranked assassins were allowed near Ra’s within a month or so of his latest dip in the Pit, and she had only reached  _ near  _ that kind of rank ever since she started working so closely with Tim. She had always suspected that the first week or so post-Pit must look a lot like this. Eyes alight with a poisonous fury, a manic edge to his words and movements, enough to make even the most fierce warriors fearful for their safety. 

Pru had seen Tim through a couple of his earlier episodes, she was familiar with how the Pit honed a person's instinctual edge to defend and attack, how it broke a person down until they were just a ball of primal emotion that overwhelmed a person’s higher thinking abilities. Tim had always been dangerous, and he definitely was when stuck in that haze. It always took a couple of people and a lot of time to calm him down.

Tim’s directionless lashing out had nothing on Ra’s al-Ghul’s unfiltered fury.

But, what really caught Pru’s eye was the fact that even the most veteran assassins in the room, the ones who certainly  _ had _ seen Ra’s during his pit-crazed days, were  _ also _ equally surprised and a slightest bit nervous over how…  _ unhinged _ Ra’s was acting today. Like they hadn’t ever seen him this far out of his mind before, even fresh off a near-death at the hands of his enemies. Even his closest allies had no clue how to react, mutely listening to his rambling that occasionally lended itself to instructions on how to prepare for an assault on some Alaskan base. To start refreshing the protocols on the best ways to wage war against Gotham.

And the guy hadn’t even been in the Pit recently. Which meant that Ra’s might actually be starting to lose it.

Pru could hear the rumors spreading already, even as she made a quick run through the mess hall on her way back to her room. How Ra’s was more furious than he had ever been in recent memory. How Ra’s was out for blood this time. How the ones in charge of the failed mission, both League and the allies present, had been sentenced to death on sight.

More interesting to Pru, though, were the rumors surrounding Tim. The Heir. How Ra’s was claiming that he had been wrongfully taken and had to be retrieved as soon as possible. That he had been swayed, perhaps a small moment of rebellion, but that Ra’s was  _ positive _ that once he had returned home to the League he would be quickly reformed to stand at Ra’s side once again. All the damage that his abduction could cause, mentally and physically, could surely be corrected, and things would return to normal once again.

And yet there were whispers, both from those loyal to Tim and those against him, that the loss of the Heir hadn’t been an abduction. That Tim’s previous argument with the Master had finally prompted him to break away from Ra’s control once and for all, ready to forge his own path and create his own empire to oppose the League. Their base moral differences in what the League should be had finally grown too insurmountable to overcome. The Heir was building up for a coup.

Perhaps most intriguing, though, was how many of those who had been previously enamored with Tim’s message of ‘protection, not death’ seemed to be debating the validity of following the Heir in this new direction. With the Demon’s Head seemingly slipping into yet unseen levels of insanity and the Heir seemingly on a collision course against that one way or another… to whom should they give their alliance?

If they could make a break away from the League without being caught… would they take it?

Pru was extremely certain that at least for some of those who were originally sympathetic to Tim the answer would be a resounding yes.

Finally reaching her room once again, Pru roughly threw the door open into her private quarters, letting it close loudly behind her and cutting off the questioning eyes of those who wanted to know what one of the Heir’s closest allies would do next. From their various positions scattered around Pru’s sitting room, the other four of Tim’s hand-picked Lieutenants looked up to glare at her for the unnecessarily rambunctious entrance. Pru just grinned.

“Look alive boys and girls, we’ve got some work to do.”

\---

Cass sat alertly next to her little brother, determined to make sure he stayed safe while they were forced to stay in this unfamiliar territory. Her protective instinct pulled her to bundle the too-small boy up and hide him away deep in the recesses of Wayne manor, with layers of protective security and even more protective family members to protect him from the world. But she was forced to stay put. 

Most of the others had long since been ushered home to sleep and prepare, but Cass had insisted that she stay in the Watchtower with Bruce. She would leave when Tim did.

Little brother, her little Timmy-bird. So hurt, in so many ways. She had seen the scars, seen the internal conflict. His brain was confused, Pit-Instinct and Tim-instinct fighting each other. She would do whatever it took to help him. Even if that meant protecting him from their family.

The others were also protective, but in different ways. For Bruce, Dick, and Stephanie the urge to protect him was interlaced deeply with guilt. Guilt that they had, indirectly or not, caused this to happen to their little Robin. For Bruce this was expected. Practically his whole life was crafted around his feelings of guilt, him always working to do what he had to to decrease that debt to the world. He didn’t have to, Cass knew. Especially not this time. She could see how Tim still trusted him more than the others. She couldn’t let Bruce unintentionally turn his feelings of previous inadequacy against their efforts to help Tim heal.

Dick and Stephanie were a bit different than Bruce. Their guilt ran deeper, but they were also both much more inclined towards ignoring their wrongdoings in the assumption that they would be forgiven. She had seen it, back in the warehouse, when they had tried to talk to Tim. That solution wouldn’t work this time, Cass knew. She would have to watch, to make sure neither of them tried to push Tim too quickly and instead accidentally sabotaged their efforts.

Damian was hesitantly protective, still unsure of what to make of this boy who had come before him, who he had replaced just as Tim had gone and unintentionally replaced Damian as Ra’s Heir. He was wary of Tim, even as he still slept. Too many bad experiences and bad interactions layered on top of each other. He was trying-protective, despite fearing what Tim’s recovery might mean for him, knowing that this is what was expected of him as a family member. Cass would watch, to make sure that his fears of inadequacy didn’t cause the boy to regress towards his early feelings of superiority as a defense mechanism.

Jason, surprisingly enough, was the one that was currently giving Cass the least cause for concern. Sure he was rough around the edges, still fighting off his own traumas, but his protectiveness was cautious and with intent. He understood Tim’s mind more than anyone in the family besides Cass herself seemed to, and despite his slight fear of rejection by the younger brother he had most wronged, he was also by far the best suited to help him in this circumstance. As long as he wasn’t pushed away by the family, she suspected that Jason would be Cass’s best ally in helping Tim.

The Titans had been protective, too, but it wasn’t the same. They were not normal humans, not Gotham, not Bats. They looked for Tim, but didn’t understand that the Tim they remembered was gone. Might never return. They would have to learn, though, if they wanted to help. Cass was hopeful that they would learn. Tim trusted them, especially the two boys. They needed more allies outside of the family.

The rest of the people she had seen in the Watchtower worried Cass. Set her on edge. None of the others in her family had seemed to notice the cautious edge in the others’ eyes as they brought Tim in and set him up to heal. They were not protective-guilt-love. They were  _ fearful _ of Tim. It was confusing.

Bruce hadn’t seen the looks, too focused on Tim. The others hadn’t seen, unaccustomed to reading people at a glance and forced home too quickly. Jason had been nervous, but he was still like that around most heroes outside of the family and his friends. Maybe he noticed subconsciously.

Cass would just have to protect Tim herself, she decided as she once again scanned over the face of her sleeping brother. There would be no one better than her. Cass would guard him from the harsh outside world that judged those forced to make hard decisions when pushed into a corner, and she would do what she could to combat his internal enemies as well. 

She hadn’t been there for Tim when he needed her back then, but she would help him heal now. She could protect him here until he was allowed to go home, and then she would stay by his side there. She knew it would be a lot of work, it would take a lot of time to rebuild what was lost.

But Tim was worth every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. What do you guys think, does the direction seem interesting? 
> 
> Like I've said before, there are a lot of pieces for the sequel I still have to settle on, and I don't want to start posting again until I've gotten used to my school schedule and have a more finished outline and a small buffer of chapters written. Basically, it will probably be a month or two. But I want to be able to stay in contact with you all, and maybe even get the occasional imput on one thing or another, which brings us to our surprise...
> 
> I've decided to make an [Instagram page](https://www.instagram.com/invites/contact/?i=1tjn12zfuqpoy&utm_content=1oy7ogy) for my writing! I went through a couple ideas for how to keep everyone updated and involved on things while waiting on the next fic, and this was the end result (since I'm scared that if I enter the mysterious land of Tumbler I will never leave, and a discord server felt excessive XD). So, if you're interested, feel free to follow and get some exclusive updates and the occasional concept artwork when the mood strikes me.
> 
> Other than that... thank you all again for sticking with me through this story, and I'll see ya next time :)


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